Love Everlasting
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: A Johnlock 30 Day OTP Challenge! Will be simultaneously sweet, angsty, and funny, in varying degrees, depending on the day and challenge. Enjoy!
1. Challenge 1: Holding Hands

_**Hey, everybody! RainyDays-and-DayDreams here. I decided to try and do the 30 Day OTP Challenge a loong time ago (like, back in September) but I never got around to writing more than the first few chapters of the first days' challenge. However, during a conversation with my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy, I sent her the little bit I had written and she loved it. So, I decided to do it for the month of December as a Christmas present for her. This is going to be Johnlock (both her and I's OTP!), and she's going to be doing this simultaneously with me. **_

_**Long intro, I know, but I needed to get it out. Oh! And one more thing! I am going to be writing one every day, but I may not be able to update this daily, because I may be busy or having computer difficulties. But fear not! I will, I repeat, I WILL finish this. So now, to the disclaimer.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, it ain't mine. Unfortunately. *sniffles***_

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_Dedicated to my Sherlock ADD Buddy. Thank you for always being there, for the amazing fanart, for comforting me, for helping me... for everything. Thank you. Oh, and that one shot you asked me to do, based off the drawing I did that I sent you? I promise, it's coming soon. I promise. _

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**CHALLENGE: HOLDING HANDS**

**Challenge accepted! XD**

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When John began to have feelings for Sherlock that definitely qualified as a bit more that friendship, and disqualified him from ever being able to say "I'm not gay!" ever again while being totally truthful, he figured his feelings would be unreciprocated, unrequited. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes, his infuriating, beautiful, most likely asexual but definitely sexually frustrating flat mate and best friend. The day Sherlock showed any sign of returning any feelings John felt towards him, John swore he would happily eat his favorite jumper. Spread it with jam, even. Because there was a snowball's chance in hell of Sherlock Bloody Beautiful Holmes, with his lean body, stormy grey-blue-green eyes, curly and dark hair, and oh-hot-damn-those-cheekbones that could probably cut steel and John swore would one day be the death of him loved him back. So John hid his feelings, hoping that friendship would be enough for him, because he didn't want to lose Sherlock. Never again.

When Sherlock first realized his feelings for John, he wondered when they first appeared. He was startled when he realized that they must have always been there, and he just never noticed them. He tried to bury them immediately. He told himself he didn't want a romantic relationship, that his work was all he needed, and besides, why would John "I'm Not Gay" Watson be interested in him? He was Sherlock Holmes, the self-diagnosed high-functioning sociopath who wasn't a sociopath at all, who shot the wall when he got bored, kept heads in the fridge and whose antics had caused John to threaten his life (only half jokingly) no less than forty two times. So Sherlock deliberately buried his feelings into the deepest recesses of his mind palace, hoping to ignore them, but never quite having them go away. The day John Watson showed any signs of returning his feelings, Sherlock swore he would wear that horrible hat in public again for a day. Because there was no way John would ever love him back.

Neither of them knew that their feelings for the other were mutual. But that was about to change.

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The case had been a seven. Just barely enough to get Sherlock to leave the flat, and John still had to fight with him. Sherlock had shot another hole in the wall, and John knew if he didn't get Sherlock a case soon he should begin to fear for his life, or sanity. Or both.

"But Jaawwn," Sherlock whined. "This case is boring. I can already tell that it was the gardener who did it-"

"No," John said, "no 'buts'. You haven't seem the crime scene yet, and therefore could be wrong. Besides, I'd rather not have Mrs. Hudson yell at us again." Sherlock shot John a "look", which John ignored. "Dressed. Now." he commanded, using his army "I'm your superior officer, you better fucking listen to me" voice. Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes, but got up anyways.

Ten minutes later, they were leaving the flat. Thirty minutes after that, they were leaving the crime scene. Alright, so Sherlock had been right- so what if it was the gardener? He'd left the flat for a bit, which was what John needed. If he had stayed cooped up there with that gorgeous ("No," John reminded himself. "Straight thoughts, straight thoughts,") madman for one more minute John would've probably ended up shooting the wall himself. Or Sherlock.

John was considering other ways he could murder his flatmate, who was already complaining of boredom, when the bomb went off. There was an outstanding flash of light, and a deafening bang. John and Sherlock flew backwards, and landed several feet away. John slipped into unconciousness.

When John came to, he blinked his eyes. He could barely see, he was so dazed. Everything was blurry and seemed simultaneously too bright and too dark. A fuzzy thought formed in the back if his consciousness. Something should be there, something that wasn't... He frowned as he tried to remember what was wrong, but a pounding in his head developed and he could barely move. He scrunched his eyebrows up in pain. He wondered where Sherlock was.

He gave a gasp as he realized that's what he was missing. Sherlock. Where the hell was Sherlock? He tried to sit up, but gasped in pain as a searing pain shot down his spine. He winced. That wasn't good. That's when he hears the voice calling his name.

"John? John? Where are you? John?!"

"Here! I'm here!" John managed to gasp out. He was having difficulty breathing. He looked around him. There. That form in the distance limping toward him must have been Sherlock. He coughed, hacking, and it felt like he was being torn apart on the inside. Sherlock finally reached him, and John couldn't help but feel a little relieved. "John," Sherlock breathed. John, sven though he was still light-headed and felt as if he could pass out at any second, did a quick examination of Sherlock. He looked fine. Might have sprained or broken something, judging by the limp, and he looked as if he had a nasty cut on his forehead, but other than that he looked fine. The look he gave John though made the doctor worry something far worse was wrong with him. "Stay with me, John," Sherlock begged. "Of course I will, Sherlock," is what John wanted to reply. Instead, he gave another hacking cough and passed out.

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Sherlock was in a right state of panic by the time the paramedics arrived. He could tell John was alive, but damn his lack of medical knowledge! He couldn't tell what was wrong with John, aside from the obvious concussion, but he had no idea how to help him, if he was dying in front of him, or if he had simply passed out from the pain.

The not knowing worried Sherlock a lot (he was Sherlock, and he was supposed to know everything- or at least everything deemed important by the genius), but he found he was also worried for his flatmate. He suppose he shouldn't have been surprised- he was aware that he had feeling for him, after all- but he still was. The sociopath had a heart. Maybe he wasn't such a sociopath after all.

When the paramedics finally arrived, they tried to take John away. This infuriated Sherlock. He argues with the one in charge, and after much blackmailing (apparently he was having three affairs at once, two with men) and a few threats to call the human personification of the British government, he was allowed to ride with John on the way to the hospital.

As they hooked up John to various machines and tried to figure out was wrong with him, Sherlock grabbed his hand. He wrapped his cold, delicate, long, pale violinist's fingers around John's darker, more worn ones, and tried to draw comfort from the pliant fingers.

He held his hand all the way to the hospital, and during the surgery, when Sherlock had to leave his side, his fingers itched the entire way through. When they released John, barely holding in but stable, Sherlock grabbed his hand again and didn't let go until he woke again.

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John wasn't sure what was going on at first. Where was he? What were those bright lights? Why was everything so white? And what was wrapped around his hand? Slowly, John pieced it together. He figured out he was in the hospital, and then...

He turned his head sharply to the side. Sure enough, there was Sherlock, grasping his hand, asleep with his head on the hospital bed. He startled awake after a few seconds. "John?" he asked, as if to confirm that it was really him. John tried to speak, but found his voice was too sore, and instead nodded his head the tiniest bit.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "John," he said, bit this time it wasn't a question- it was a reassurance, a comfort. John smiled, and squeezed Sherlock's hand, enjoying the feeling of the long pale hand wrapped around his.

Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise before he squeezed back, a smile on his face that was reflected in John's.

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_**Reviews are much appreciated, and I can't thank you enough for reading this! Remember: Reviews- me = Cake+ Lestrade - Mycroft. Thank you!**_


	2. Challenge 2: Cuddling Somewhere

_As it was yesterday, this is dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. I hope things get better for you soon, dear. Hopefully this bit of fluff will cheer you up a tad. _

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Challenge 2: Cuddling Somewhere

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

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Trying to get up in the morning had never been Sherlock's forte. Most people didn't know it, seeing as the man hardly ever slept, but on those occasional few days when he did sleep he would spend half an hour, groaning and staring at the ceiling, blinking blearily, before he could even consider getting up. And then he had to carefully stretch every limb, and then he had to sit back down again on the bed for another twenty or so minutes, because if he tried to get up again he would probably end up collapsing. Then, if all went according to plan, he would slowly raise himself from the bed, much like a vampire or zombie from old horror films, stumble into the kitchen, demand coffee or tea from John, not receive it, make it himself and then collapse on the couch. He'd remain there for the next half hour or so, claiming to be thinking but really just trying to keep himself from going back to bed.

No, Sherlock Holmes was definitely not a morning person.

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Captain John Watson, MD, formerly of the the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, was most definitely a morning person. While he knew as well as the next person that the typical Disney Princess "wake up singing and throw open the curtains" model of a morning person was utter rubbish, he still managed to love mornings. Ever since he was a child, John loved to get up and look at the sunrise. Now that he lived with Sherlock, he also loved the mornings because on days when the detective actually slept, it meant he wouldn't he disturbed until at least nine or ten in the morning.

Except on the mornings after case days. On the mornings after a particularly long case, or brutal chase, John was just as had as Sherlock, if not worse. John, instead of being annoyed, was instead rather amused that the man who had cured him of his psychosomatic limp also managed to completely change his disposition in the mornings. Some days. Most of the time John was still bright and chipper at six thirty.

When John and Sherlock first began sleeping together (sleeping in the literal sense- they didn't cross that boundary in their relationship for a good four months), John quickly discovered that while Sherlock was not a morning person, he was also perhaps the lightest sleeper in existance and if John so much as breathed in the wrong way Sherlock would wake up panicking. This, of course, led to a bit of discomfort for both parties. Sherlock knew that John woke up earlier than him every day, and wanted him to get up when he did, but he knew that there was no hope of John getting out of bed without waking him. And when Sherlock, as with everything else he did, woke up in the morning he committed completely and was physically incapable of sleeping again until the next night. So John, who woke up a six every morning, regardless of whether or not he had set an alarm, wanted to get up in the morning, but knew how little rest Sherlock got and didn't want to wake him up any earlier than necessary, would stay in bed until hr could either no longer hold his bladder or Sherlock woke up naturally. This irked Sherlock, because really, John shouldn't have to stay in bed with him, but John stayed anyways.

The resolution to their conflict presented itself rather early one morning, at around six, as usual. John had woken up to find a certain consulting detective's arm draped across his chest. He smiled, but quickly frowned when he realized was trapped and couldn't roll over onto his side to get into a more comfortable position. Ever so carefully, he rolled over onto his side, being careful not to wake the sleeping man next to him.

It didn't work, however- the second John began to move, Sherlock awoke with a start. Sighing, John finished turning. "Morning, Sher," he said, yawning. Sherlock grumbled and began to blink blearily at the ceiling, as per his normal morning ritual. John sighed, realizing that while most people would think Sherlock was trying to go back to sleep, he was actually trying to wake up. "Go back to sleep, Sher," he sighed. Sherlock groaned in response, but continued blinking. His giant brain wasn't quite working yet.

John suddenly had an idea. Sneaking up behind the man, he began to run his fingers through his hair. Sherlock sighed with pleasure, and arched his his head into John's hand. John bit back a laugh at his love's cat-like behavior. Suddenly, Sherlock latched onto John's other arm. Smiling, John let him and continued to run his fingers through Sherlock's rich brown soft curls. Sherlock practically melted- every single drop of tension seemed to leave his body. Soon, he was softly snoring and back to sleep.

John smiled at Sherlock and placed a soft kiss in his hair. Surprised when he didn't wake, he carefully pried his arm out from underneath Sherlock's body, before it went numb, and wrapped an arm around Sherlock again. He was surprised when he found himself nodding off, and he soon fell back asleep.

They both slept until noon that day.

From then on, whenever one woke up because of the other before they were supposed to, or they were both too exhausted from a case to want to wake up before they were supposed to, all John had to do was finger-comb Sherlock's hair and let the younger man grasp his arm, and soon they would both be asleep again. While neither man ever admitted it to each other, they both loved and looked forward to those mornings- when all was right with the world, and all they had to worry about was each other.

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_**A/N: Hello, lovelies! I am absolutely astounded by the amount of feedback this has received already. All I can say is thank you, and I hope I continue to fulfill your expectations. Remember to leave a review, because Reviews- me = Cake + Lestrade - Mycroft. So, rather a lot. Thank you, again!**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams (aka Mars)**_

_**P.S. In case anyone's wondering... Sherlock's morning wake-up routine is based off mine. Except for the occasional day when I fancy I want to see a sunrise and get up far before any reasonable person should, I have never really liked mornings and probably never shall. **_


	3. Challenge 3: Gaming, or Watching a movie

_As it has been for the past two days, this is dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. I'm still working on the drawing. I've colored it now, and am trying to figure out how to shade it. And I'm still working on that story. As always, this is for you. :)_

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_**Day 3: Gaming/ Watching a Movie**__**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**_

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The few people who knew about John and Sherlock's pre-relationship"Cluedo Incident", as they called it, often joked about it. "What, did he actually commit the murder himself?" was frequently asked, as well as several other barbs. What people didn't know, however, was that Sherlock and John recently made a game of their own- one where it actually was possible for the victim to have done it.

They never named it, per say, but it did become a fairly regular feature in their household. Whenever Sherlock was bored to the point of blowing more holes in the wall or performing unauthorized experiments on John, John would pull it out and they would play.

There weren't any rules- no set rules, anyway. The only thing that governed the game was the limits if their imaginations- and the laws of physics, of course. No matter how "boring" Sherlock claimed they were, even the genius couldn't fought or beat them.

While the game constantly changed, several elements remained constant. Murder was always the cause of the game. Sherlock would give John, or John would give Sherlock, a set of variables surrounding the murder and they would have to deduce (or in John's case, guess) the circumstances of the murder and a possible murderer, and then explain their reasoning. Sherlock came up with explanations John didn't even know were possible, and John grew quite good at making stuff up. There was never a true winner, because no matter who won or lost it always ended with them kissing, and possibly having sex afterwards.

And that was their game. Quite simple, really, but it was a fun distraction from the real life murders they so often had to deal with.

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John was a movie buff. Most people didn't know it, but the man had such a huge archive of random movie trivia that it almost put his lover's knowledge of 243 types of tobacco ash to shame. It had actually inspired Sherlock to suggest to John, on multiple occasions, that if he was going to store such useless information in his hard drive he could at least build a mind palace. (Sherlock wasn't aware, but John actually had a rather similar construct in his mind, and that was how he managed to retain all that trivia. John was vaguely aware of its existence, but not aware enough to inform Sherlock of it.)

But this was why every Friday night, unless there was a case, was designated movie night. Every Friday night, John would select an old movie that he had picked up earlier in the day, or select one from Netflix, pop some popcorn and sit down on the couch with Sherlock. Sherlock would almost immediately begin to deduce the outcome of the movie, but John managed to shut him up with a kiss and promise of sex afterwards before he gave too much away.

Those nights usually ended well for them both. John would get to see his movie, and some time with Sherlock, and Sherlock got to spend a full two or three hours just... Listening to John. His heartbeat, his breathing, everything. Sherlock suspected he would never grow tired of listening to the doctor. And then there was the sex. That was always very nice. Of course.

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One night, John had picked up the old 1920s version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When the dramatic music began, and the images began to flash in grainy black and white on the screen, Sherlock groaned. "Not another silent movie," he said. John simultaneously took another piece of popcorn and put a finger to his love's cupid bow lips. "Shhh," he said.

This confused Sherlock. "Why should I be silent?" he cried. "It's a silent movie. All you can hear is the music-"

"Shhh."

Suddenly, John placed his lips on Sherlock again. Their kiss was slow and sweet, and tasted of popcorn, butter, and salt. Sherlock smiled as he felt John's lips press against his.

"Fine," Sherlock huffed petulantly. His eyes widened in surprise when John placed an unexpected kiss on his lips. John looked at him, eyes shining and smiling widely. "Thanks, Sher," he said. "You know how much this means to me." Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. He placed his head on John's shoulder and listened to his love breathe.

An hour and a half later, the movie was over. Sherlock grunted as John gently shoved him aside to stretch. "How'd you like it?" Sherlock asked. John smiled. "It was good," he said. He knew better than to ask if Sherlock had enjoyed it. He knew he hadn't been paying attention.

Suddenly, John's lips were on Sherlock's. Sherlock smiled into the kiss, which was slow and sweet, and tasted of popcorn. They stopped a few minutes later to take a breath for air, and John smiled at Sherlock. "C'mon, let's go to bed," John suggested, rasing his eyebrows teasingly at the detective.

"Oh god, yes," Sherlock breathed, and he let the shorter man lead him into their shared room.

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_**A/N: And there you have it! Day 3! I will happily admit I'm not very pleased with this one, but this prompt didn't exactly stir my creativity as well as the previous two did, so I did the best I could. Also, I couldn't decide whether or not to write them playing a game or watching a movie, so I decided to do both! Again, I apologize for this chapter- tomorrow's prompt is much better, in my opinion. Reviews are still appreciated (I say appreciated, what I mean is I obsessively check my email every ten minutes to see if I've gotten a new one) and greatly looked forward to! Remember, reviews are to me what cake and Lestrade are to Mycroft. Thank you, and goodnight! (or goodmorning, depending on where you are)**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**p.s. John always struck me as the movie-aficionado type. Not entirely sure why.**_


	4. Challenge 4: On a Date

**_A/N: I am absolutely astounded at the feedback for this fic, you guys. A-stoun-ded. Like, I've-never-had-so-much-feedback-on-a-fic-before-oh-my-god-I'm-crying-tears-of-joy astounded. I never thought I would get this much feedback at all, much less only FOUR DAYS into the challenge. So thank you, so much, from the bottom of my heart._**

**_Also, yesterday I received a review from Star Trekker 13 which Imust make note of. One, she pointed out that on John Watson's blog (if you don't know, it's a real thing, and you should most definitely check it out!) John mentioned in a comment that he and Sherlock were going to have a Bond night. Which backs up my claim/headcanon that John is a movie buff. Really, that was a careless mistake on my part, seeing as I've read the bloody thing, so I must apologize. Also, she left a prompt for me, which is as follows:_**

**_"Uh, here's a new prompt. Hmm... Well, I've always imagined walking with Sherlock and then getting caught in the rain (keep in mind, this was for a story), then running to a bistro, him using his coat to cover us up, stopping under the awning for a few minutes, giggling and breathing heavily from the running, before going inside and having a bite to eat. Then, it's the journey back to 221 B._**

I would like to see that be a future chapter of this story. :)"

**_I figured this would mesh well with today's challenge, which is Sherlock and John going on a date. So here you go, my dear. I did the best I could. I hope I fulfilled your expectations. _**

_**Lastly, I must point out that I write these stories during the day, on my phone, during school, and the only proof-reading they get is when my phone's autocorrect notices I misspelled something. Needless to say, but I shall say it anyhow, this is un-beta'd and un-Brit-picked, so any grammatical errors, typos, and Americanisms are my own fault, and feel free to send me a PM to point it out. Thank you so much, and I apologize for the length of this! Now, onto the story! **_

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_As always, dedicated to my Sherlock ADD Buddy. I'd leave you another secretive message,m but seeing as we're texting right now there's really no point. But you must listen to Cabin Pressure. YOU MUST._

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**_Day 4 Challenge: On a Date_**

**_CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!_**

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Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were anything but ordinary. This was made painfully clear to them constantly, but what most didn't know is that their inability to act in a manner most considered "normal" went far beyond most assumed, and into their romantic life. (Whether or not it extended into their sexual was their own business.)

Their dating life, for example, was pretty much nonexistent. Sherlock and John didn't really do "dates". They discovered early on in their relationship that if they even attempted to sit down at Angelo's or any other restaurant for a nice meal, it was guaranteed that within fifteen minutes either Sherlock would receive a call about a particularly brutal homicide or John would receive a call from the clinic, because the old man that only he could handle was there and he just wouldn't go away. So after a while, they just gave up trying to go on dates and just settled for eating meals together occasionally and calling it a date.

It wasn't a perfect system, but it worked.

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It was raining.

Sherlock had mixed feelings about the rain. On one hand, it rained far too much for his liking in London. It always made it a bit harder to focus when he was on a case, what with the tap-tap-tapping that would happen on windows if the body was indoors, and of course it was harder for him to focus on outdoor bodies when there was a constant flow of water falling on him (rather like the world's worst and most unwelcome shower.)

On the other, Sherlock loved the rain. He maintained hazy memories of jumping in puddles as a child, and playing in the rain. Something about the moodiness it projected appealed to him also. Lastly, he liked... Well, he liked the smell. Not that he'd ever tell anyone.

They had been called to the body after a lazy day, which had been nice, but both Sherlock and John were eager to have something to do. It wasn't anything special- your typical crime of passion. Sherlock had solved it in five minutes.

When Sherlock and John arrived outside, however, Sherlock's usual powers of being able to hail a taxi within a minute failed him. Flustered, Sherlock gave up while John laughed over his frustration.

John chuckled as he pulled on Sherlock's arm. "Hungry?" he asked, echoing that first night together so long ago. "Starved," Sherlock replied, eyes twinkling as he remembered. "Angelo's is just a few blocks away. Come on, we can walk." Sherlock tugged on John's arm and pulled the doctor away, still chuckling.

Despite the rain, the walk had been going fairly well- until the downpour started. It was almost torrential. "Aw, shite," John groaned. Sherlock tried to turn his coat collar up higher, but failed. John was suddenly struck by an idea. "Come on, Sherlock, let's run! We're only a block away anyways."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come now, John, you can't seriously be suggesting we run in this. It's scientifically proven one gets wetter when running in rain, as compared to when one walks. There would really be no point-"

John sighed, exasperated, and stopped. Taking shelter by the side of a building, he pulled Sherlock next to him. "Sherlock, it's pouring. We're going to get soaked either way. It's also bloody freezing, and we'll get there quicker if we run." He waggles his eyebrows at Sherlock, grinning mischievously. "And you have to admit, it's more fun." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled. Now come on!" He pulled Sherlock after him, stumbling, and began to run.

A few minutes later they were at Angelo's, soaked to the bone and gasping for breath, but grinning and giggling. Angelo saw them and bustled over. "Ah, Sherlock, John!" he cried. "It's pouring outside, you know, no idea why you tried to walk."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, Angelo, it is rather wet outside. Can you get us a table now please? Ouch!" he cried out as John elbowed him. "Be polite," he hissed. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he rubbed his arm piteously.

Angelo led them over to their typical spot by the window, and smiled as he set a candle on the table. Neither John nor Sherlock bothered trying to chase him away now- John's previous argument that they weren't dating was patently untrue now.

They soon had their orders placed, and when they received them, John and Sherlock ate happily. Sherlock used to not eat a lot, and to be quite frank, still did, but he made a point of eating when he was out with John just to make the doctor happy. They squeezed hands underneath the table, and when no one was looking, John placed a quick peck on Sherlock's lips, which made the detective blush, which in turn pleased the doctor.

The dinner was great, as always, and the walk back to 221B was entertaining to say the least. Pulling your lover into an alleyway to have a hot and heavy make out session while it poured outside was sure to liven up any walk.

When they arrived back at 221B, John pulled off his soaking wet coat while Sherlock did the same. "Oh, no," Sherlock moaned, "I'm going to have to have this dry cleaned before I wear it again." He let out a similar moan when he pulled off his scarf and saw it was in similar condition. John chuckled at his distress. Actually, John sat back to watch the show as Sherlock pulled off every item of clothing he had on (all soaking wet) except for his pants. It was rather enjoyable, he had to admit. Sherlock saw him looking and raised an eyebrow. "John, please don't tell me you're fantasizing about various forms of coitus you could have with me while I'm trying to remove soaking wet clothing items."

"Mm," John hummed, neither a confirmation or a denial.

Sherlock chuckled as he took in John's blown pupils. "Come," he said. "Let's shower. Get warmed up again."

John didn't object as he and Sherlock made their way to the shower together.

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**_A/N: And I'm at it again with the innuendos! I should point out that while this story may contain sexual references, it will not actually contain smut, so it shall remain rated T. I hope this chapter pleases you all as much as the last three did. Again, please please please please please PLEASE review! I cry tears of joy every time I get a new one. Much like Mycroft does when Lestrade walks in with a piece of cake. So again, please review! Thank you all, and have a great night/ morning!_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**


	5. Challenge 5: Kissing

_**A/N: Hey! I'm sorry I'm updating this so late. Technically, it's still the fifth here (I'm on Pacific Standard Time), so I guess I updated it today. Anyways, I was hit with an alarming shit storm today which consisted of over sixty AP US History terms, two articles I had to annotate and fill out long, complicated worksheets for in my Honors Chemistry class, and my typical dose of Spanish 2 Honors homework. And it's all due tomorrow, no make-up. Yay. Note my sarcasm. **_

_**Anyhoo, I had it pointed out in a review that during yesterday's challenge, I had Sherlock say "coitus" instead of sex. For some reason, my sleep-deprived mind thought that Sherlock would NEVER say something as straight-forward as sex, and the best substitute my brain could come up with was "coitus." Not only was I completely wrong, thinking back ("Sex doesn't alarm me!"), but I chose the WORST synonym possible.**_

_**Coitus. Fucking coitus. What the hell was I thinking? Ugh. *smashes head into wall***_

_**Also, in case anyone is wondering where I get these challenges from, I got them from a list on deviantart. I'd post the link, but fanfiction won't allow me, so just google "30 day otp challenge" and click on the deviantart link. There you can see the complete list of challenges I am doing. I may change a few of them, but most of them are remaining exactly as is. **_

_**Lastly, Star Trekker 13 left me another prompt. I was going to fill it another time, when I realized that most of this story basically conforms with what she asked. So, here's the prompt:**_

_**"Sherlock and John are investigating a crime scene when gun shots go off. Sherlock tries to protect John (who almost gets shot)."**_

_**What I did is not exactly the same as the prompt (I was 90% done with this when I noticed the similarities), but it's close enough that it would be repetitive of me to actually fully fill this prompt. So I went, Eh, fuck it. Consider your prompt filled. Thank you for prompting me. :)**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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_As always, dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Homework sucks. So does doing dishes. And cleaning out litter boxes is the worst._

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**CHALLENGE: Kissing**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

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John and Sherlock shared many kisses over the years. Some were short and sweet, a simple showing of affection. Others were fast, hard and angry with longing and desire. Some lasted for less than a second- others lasted so long they'd have to stop so they could breathe.

Without a doubt, though, of you asked Sherlock or John which kiss was their favorite, they would both say their first. It had been an exhilarating kiss in front of half of the NSY, but it was theirs and theirs alone.

* * *

It had been after a particularly difficult case. John had been out of the hospital that he had been sent to after the explosion for about two weeks, and was back to chasing criminals with Sherlock again. In all honesty, it was still too early for him to be out solving crime again, and the doctor knew it, but staying cooped up inside 221B was driving him insane. It was getting to the point where if he didn't find something to distract him soon, he may have pulled a page out of Sherlock's book and fired holes at the wall.

Thankfully, a case had come just in time. Homicide, body found in an alley. Lestrade and his team were baffled. It appeared for all the world as if the man was a member of the upper class- what with his ten thousand pound watch, and his ridiculously expensive suit. There was also the fact he was not from this part of London. His wallet was found empty, nothing but his identification cards inside. What was he doing in a back alley on the wrong side of London, looking for all the world as if he'd been the unfortunate victim of a vicious mugging? Truly, the man had been roughed up- his fancy suit was torn in numerous places, he had a plethora of bruises forming on his body, and he was covered in mud from the recent rain. But if he had been mugged, why had only the money in his wallet been taken, and not anything else? The man had socks that were provably worth more than Lestrade made in a month. At his wit's end, he had called Sherlock to see if he could help.

Sherlock deduced it within five minutes. The man (whose name had been William Douglas) had obviously been the CEO of a large company. He had a wife, to whom he was having an affair (as per the stereotype, with his secretary), two young children, a small dog, and a major gambling problem. That had been why he was killed- he was going bankrupt. He spent too much money in high-stakes poker games, and didn't have the money to pay back the money he lost. One of the dealers had sent out hired thugs (obviously hired- no dealer would get their hands dirty, and on the rare possibility they had, they would have immediately recognized the value if his various other items of clothing and taken those as well) to rough him up, and take his money. Something had gone wrong, though- they'd ended up killing him. Panicking, the goons had, in an admittedly stupid move, had driven him out here and dumped him in this alleyway- where he'd lain for several hours, getting covered in rain and mud.

This was helpful, of course, but there was the slight problem of finding the particular person who had hired the men to kill Mr. Douglas. It wasn't for nothing, however, that Sherlock had a homeless network. He spread the word and within the hour they had not only found the man, but the entire illegal gambling ring. Sherlock and John, of course, leaped straight in under the pretense of being men with an abundance of money and a gambling problem.

All was going well- John had managed to find a way to alert DI Lestrade that they were with the murderer, and they should be on standby to break in and start arresting people.

But then, something happened. John was never entirely sure what. One moment, he was watching as Sherlock made a remarkable bluff about the nature of the cards in his hand, and the next the man was staring at them with a predatory look in his eyes. Sherlock noticed, and looked at John with concern and sent a message with his eyes. "Run. Now."

But John was not the type to do that. Instead, he grinned cockily at the dealer while Sherlock won the game with no pairs and an ace, while his opponent had a Full House. "Come, Martin, we must be leaving," he said, using John's code name. He grabbed John's hand and began to drag him out of the building where the ring was.

As soon as they were out, John and Sherlock started running. They ran to where Lestrade and his team were supposed to meet them so they could break in. But halfway there, Sherlock suddenly stopped and shoved John down into a box-filled alley. "Sherlock, what the bloody- OW!" the doctor cried as Sherlock and he both hit the ground, hard.

John found out why in a moment. A bullet whizzed above them not half a second after they had hit the ground. A gruff man's voice yelled at them, "Come back here!" John recognized at as the voice of the leader- the man who had sent the men after Mr. Douglas.

Sherlock went silent for a moment, before speaking up. "Bit stupid, don't you think, demanding we reveal ourselves and thereby revealing that you're after us? Although admittedly, the gunshot did rather give you away."

The man growled. "Who's stupid here? You just talked, and now I can tell where you are."

"Ah, but can you? There could be an infinite amount of possibilities here, with the echoes and shapes distorting the sound, and we could be moving or lying perfectly still! So no, you can't know, and that was a foolish statement for you to make." As Sherlock said that, he nudged John and they slowly began to army crawl down the alley, towards Lestrade and safety. Suddenly, though, the man heard them. He raised his hand to fire, when-

"Why are you doing this, anyhow?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked, why are you doing this?"

"Does it matter? I'm about to shoot you and your partner."

"Actually, it rather does. See, all the evidence points to the fact that you prefer to use hired professionals to do your dirty work, and lord knows you and plenty in there. Why not send them after us? Why are you giving chase to us personally, doing leg work?"

"I don't-"

"Ah, but see, you do. This is personal. Why is it personal? It wasn't personal enough to go after Mr. Douglas himself. No, we're different. Is it because we won money from you? No, too obvious, and besides, that's hardly personal enough to warrant going after us. Is it because we caught onto you? Or is there another reason?"

"Shut up, I say, shut-!"

"Oh, so it is because we caught onto you. Never been caught before, have you? I imagine it's quite an embarrassment, having been caught by an 'amateur' detective less than twenty four hours after committing a crime, while you've been commuting similar infractions for years. Now, let's get started on your personal life-"

Sherlock was cut off by the sound of a man falling to the ground. Alarmed, he allowed himself to look behind them for a moment, only to see a few officers holding down the man while Lestrade grinned at the alley where Sherlock and John lay. "C'mon, you two," he called out. "Come out where we can see you. Are you both alright?"

Sherlock quickly recovered from his shock. "Yes, yes, we're alright," he called back, while he stood up and pulled John with him. Brushing off his coat, he led John out of the alley. Lestrade remained smiling when he saw them, but he let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "You look like you had fun," he remarked, gesturing towards their wet and dirty clothes.

"Oh, shut it," John said, and without warning he pulled Sherlock down by his scarf and kissed him full on the mouth.

Sherlock's (and everyone at the scene's) eyes widened with shock. Sherlock took a millisecond to process what was happening. But then he realized it with a sudden burst of clarity, and he was kissing John back. He'd wanted this for a long time, especially since the hand-holding at the hospital, but they had never discussed that once they left, and now-

God, kissing John felt so good. He could feel the doctor's slightly chapped lips against his own, feel them moving in sync with his, taste him, taste John, see a tiny freckle he hadn't known existed in the middle of his eyebrow...

Sherlock moaned and put his hands on the back of John's head, pulling the doctor closer. Sherlock felt John smile through the kiss and knew there was a similar grin stretching across his features.

"A-hem."

"Hey, this is nice and all, but you should probably stop. You are in public..."

"OI!"

That got their attention. John broke away from Sherlock, gasping for air, as he looked at him with eyes whose pupils were blown wide. His pulse was increased, and Sherlock knew he was displaying similar symptoms.

Lestrade coughed awkwardly. Sherlock finally noticed that Anderson and Donovan were at the scene as well, and were currently staring at him with similar expressions of slack-jawed shock. "Sherlock, John, we're really happy for you two, but it looks like you're done here and you should most likely go home now." Sherlock was about to protest when he saw the look in John's eyes. He looked... Hungry. And Sherlock had a similar feeling. He liked kissing John. He wanted to go home, and never stop kissing him.

Sherlock straightened his scarf. "Okay, then," John said. "We'll be going now." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him away. Sherlock felt a smirk grow on his face as he realized they were once again holding hands.

As they walked away, they heard someone that sounded suspiciously like Lestrade wolf-whistling at them. And they might not have been there for it, but Lestrade received a fairly large payout that night- it appeared as if it had been his time slot for when they would get together in the betting pool at the New Scotland Yard. John and Sherlock never knew that his congratulations was also a thank you.

And as for Sherlock and John, well, they went home and kissed. A lot. And they didn't stop kissing for the rest of their lives.

Yes, Sherlock and John's favorite kiss was their first- not only because of the circumstances surrounding it, but because it was the kiss that led to ten thousand more.

* * *

_**A/N: Look at that fluff. Just look at it. I'm surprised I haven't written much angst yet. I'm an angst addict. Oh well. Apparently fluff is all I can write right now.**_

_**Guys, I am absolutely blown away by how much feedback you're giving me. I mean, TWELVE FOLLOWS. AND FOURTEEN REVIEWS. HOLY SHIT. (I get sweary when I'm excited. Or frustrated. Thinking about it now, I actually curse no matter what mood I'm in. Strange.) Thank you all so much! I actually had a near on sobbing breakdown in my math class today because of all the kind reviews. So please, continue with the reviews. They brighten my whole day and give me the strength and encouragement to keep going. And since it's day five, I'll think of a new phrase to describe how much I love reviews. Hmm... Reviews are to me what a triple homicide and John wrapped in a warm, fuzzy jumper are to Sherlock. There, that describes it pretty well! So please, review! For the sake of all that is murder-y and death-y and Sherlock-y! (Yes, those are all real words. I made them up. They are on this website. Ergo, they are real.)**_

_**So now, if you'll excuse me, I still have 29 history terms to do. *smashes head into wall again* UGH, UGH, UGH.**_

_**So goodnight (or goodmorning), and remember I love you all!**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***wiggles arms in vague wavy motions* *moonwalks out of room* *trips on pink Snuggie and falls on face***_


	6. Challenge 6:Wearing Each Other's Clothes

_As always, dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. I admit, I have never tried or had peanut-butter pie, but it does sound intriguing (and delicious)._

* * *

**CHALLENGE 6: Wearing each other's clothes**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

It was no secret that Sherlock liked to experiment. Liked very much to, in fact. Not only did it provide him with more information that was essential to the Work, but it was a surefire way to get rid if boredom as well.

It was also no secret that John absolutely hated it when Sherlock experimented. Now, wait, John loved Sherlock and was supportive of his love; however, when Sherlock experimented, it meant one of three things would happen:

A) There would be an ear- shattering explosion at some point. Now, while this was not a nice thing to have happen to normal people, it was a really bad idea to do this around a war veteran. Every time John heard one of these explosions, he had to ignore everything that had ever been trained into him, not dive for the ground, and had to grit his teeth fight off flashbacks. So yes, John had a fairly good reason to not like these experiments. But Sherlock knew the effect they had on John, and had stopped doing them in the flat. Now explosions only occurred when something went catastrophically wrong.

B) Assorted body parts would float in and out of 221B for a few days. John would have to be careful of where he placed various objects in the fridge, because if he wasn't careful he would come back to find a head, or an arm, or a foot resting on top of his produce. John actually minded these experiments the least- they were annoying still, sure, and often the experiments involving the body parts were gruesome and messy, but as long as John kept food he planned on eating away from the areas where Sherlock most often placed the body parts, he was fine. Mrs. Hudson, however, was a different story. She was a firm believer in morgues- mainly that dead belongs belonged in morgues, and should stay in the morgues, and out of the fridge, thank you very much. She didn't complain too much, however. After all, she wasn't their housekeeper.

Or, lastly, C): One or multiple articles of John personal belongings would pay the price. For some reason, Sherlock has a fascination with burning, throwing acid, spilling blood, growing mould spores on and just generally being an arsehole to John's jumpers. People sometimes wonder how John's managed to keep his favorite oatmeal jumper intact if Sherlock experiments on it so much. The answer is he doesn't. Every month, he just orders four new ones from the company that makes them through Amazon. Two are guaranteed to be destroyed, and the other two were backups in case Sherlock went through the ones destined to be destroyed too quickly. John honestly has no idea what he'll do if the company stops making the jumpers. Maybe contact Mycroft and make sure they keep making the jumpers, even if it is only for John Watson.

There were, of course, the rare exceptions when an experiment was a good thing- like the time Sherlock experimented with cooking and ended up making John a cake for his birthday. And then a cake every day for the rest of the week. But those were the rare occasions- 98% of the time an experiment meant one of the three options above.

One day, John was running late to work. Well, he ran late a lot, due to Sherlock pulling shenanigans not often seen outside of children's cartoon shows. But this particular day, he had managed to coax Sherlock down from the walls (he swore to himself he would never let Sherlock experiment with energy drinks again) but found himself shirtless. And jumperless. In fact, he appeared to not have any clothing items with which he could cover his chest.

"SHERLOCK!" he yelled. Sherlock came bounding into the bedroom, still slightly jumpy and hyper from the energy drink. "Yes, John?" he asked. John tried not to notice the fact he was shaking with pent-up energy. He inhaled and brought his fingers to the bridge if his nose. Exhaling slowly, he looked up, still holding his fingers to his nose. "Can you please tell me where you put my shirts? And jumpers?" His voice came out very carefully controlled, but hid barely concealed rage and frustration.

Sherlock didn't notice. He bounded (maybe bounced was a better word) over to the other aide of the room, and then was back to John in the blink of an eye. He looked him straight on. "Experiment."

"What experiment?"

"Various ones. Needless to say, nothing survived."

"Wait, what? Sherlock! I've told you before that one is fine, but at least leave me with something to wear-!"

"But John, I needed to test-"

"NO, SHERLOCK! Shite. I'm twenty minutes late and I've got nothing to wear. What the hell am I supposed to do?" John sat down on the bed and groaned, covering his face with his hands. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He looked up, and saw Sherlock had left the room, presumably to bounce and flounce around the rest of the flat. He grinned, an almost evil look reaching his features. Two could play at this game.

Snickering, he ran to Sherlock's wardrobe and grabbed the first shirt he saw. Then, for added effect, he grabbed Sherlock's coat and scarf. Still giggling, he dashed out of the flat, making sure Sherlock could see him, and then slammed the door behind him while Sherlock cried out protests.

Oh, the people at the clinic where just going to _love_ this.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes never got sick before he met John.

Actually, he didn't do a lot of things before he met John. He never ate unless he was about to pass out. He didn't sleep until he actually had passed out (hopefully inside the flat, and not at a crime scene). He didn't do emotions, either- hence the whole "high functioning sociopath" shtick. He also did other things he probably shouldn't have done that were very much illegal before he met John. He didn't anymore. He didn't need to.

Anyways, Sherlock never got sick. Then he met John. Even then, for a while, he still didn't get sick. The doctor marveled at Sherlock's seemingly superhuman strong immune system.

Then the explosion happened, and the kiss, and the whole "becoming a couple" deal. And even then, for a while, Sherlock remained healthy. Because Sherlock Holmes was a man that was many things, but someone who got sick was not one.

Until he did.

It was about three moths after they had gotten together. John had woken up in the middle of the night to Sherlock having a full blown panic attack. It was the middle of January, and their room wad freezing. Sherlock lay on the ground, blankets wrapped around him and breathing heavily, and looking for all the world as if his entire world had just been shattered. "John," he whispered, "I think I'm dying."

If the lack of sheets in the already freezing cold room didn't wake the doctor up, that's certainly did. Near having a panic attack himself, he swung himself over to where Sherlock lay on the floor, only to be confused when he saw nothing physically wrong with Sherlock. "Sherlock," he asked slowly, "What's wrong?"

"I told you. I'm dying."

"Yes, you've told me. Why are you dying?"

"I feel... Achy. And I'm cold, and my throat hurts, and..." He then made a list of every single symptom he had with extreme detail, while John knelt down and pressed his hand to Sherlock's forehead. He chuckled as he confirmed his diagnosis.

"... And I'm nauseous, and my head is pounding-"

"Sherlock, love, you have the flu." John couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice as he took in the other man's confusion.

"What? That's preposterous! I don't get sick, and I most definitely do not catch the flu!"

"Well, apparently you do. Come on. It looks like you've got a fever. Let's get you back into bed, and I can get you some paracetamol." Still chuckling, John helped the sick detective back to bed and wrapped the blankets around him. He denied Sherlock's request for additional blankets. "Sherlock, I know you're cold, but you have a fever. We need to try and keep your temperature down."

"I don't care, John. It's cold. I need another blanket."

"No, Sherlock." Sighing, John brushed some errant curls off of Sherlock's forehead and kissed his slightly sweaty and warm brow. Pulling the blankets on his detective up higher, he left the room to find the paracetamol and a glass of water.

He'd hardly been gone for five minutes when he heard Sherlock running from the room. Alarmed, he immediately stopped his search and was about to dash back to search for Sherlock when he heard retching noises. His eyes widened with realization and he ran to where the noises were coming from.

The sight that awaited him was not pretty. Sherlock had not made it to the bathroom, and he and the hallway were covered in sick. Sherlock leaned against the wall, trembling, looking horrified at the mess he'd made.

Stepping over the mess, John reached Sherlock. He gently led him into the bathroom and began to draw him a hot bath. As he began to fill the tub, he glanced behind him at Sherlock, who looked as if he might actually need a shock blanket. "Get undressed," he said. "This is for you."

Sherlock nodded in understanding, and shakily stepped out of his now-filthy pyjama pants and grey shirt. When the tub was filled, John turned around.

"Like I said, this is for you. Clean yourself up. Stay in here for a while. It'll help you feel better, I promise. I'm going to go clean the hallway and then get you some more pyjamas. Stay in here until I come back, okay? If you need anything, call for me." John then helped Sherlock into the tub, grabbed the filthy clothes, and turned around to look back at his sick love before he left.

Cleaning the hallway was unpleasant, as expected, but fairly quick. He sprayed disinfectant throughout the place when he was done. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall before he went to throw Sherlock's dirty pyjamas in the washer. He then went to go find Sherlock more clothes.

This proved to be a far more difficult task than he had originally expected. Of course he knew that Sherlock only slept in the clothes he had been previously wearing, or none at all. Sherlock was sick, however- he needed something to cover him. But what would he wear? John looked desperately through Sherlock's wardrobe, but found only Sherlock's usual attire of dress shirts and pants (including that purple shirt, which John had to forcibly hide behind other clothes so he would not be distracted by visions of Sherlock in it) and his disguises. None of which were suitable for bed-wear.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, John leaned against the wardrobe and exhaled heavily. Looking up, he saw his wardrobe on the other side of the room. Wait. His wardrobe. He dashed over, sure he had something that would at least be mildly suitable for the lanky detective. He found a pair of pyjama pants after a few minute's search, but reached another snag when he tried to find a shirt. Every single one he owned was simultaneously too wide and short for the detective. Out of sheer desperation, John grabbed one of his larger jumpers and dashed back to the bathroom.

The look of utter peace and relaxation on Sherlock's face, which was so out of place on his features, almost made John laugh. He didn't, though. He knew how sick Sherlock was, and seeing as it was first time being sick, he knew that Sherlock was most likely terrified. "Hey," he said. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. "Hello," he said. John noticed that his voice was slightly scratchy. "Here," John said. "Got these for you." He gestured towards the clothes in hands. Sherlock grunted in response.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock had been dried off, dressed in John's pyjama pants and jumper, led back to bed and given paracetamol. As John tucked the detective in once more, Sherlock frowned at him. "Aren't you going to stay?" he asked. Smiling, John wrapped one of Sherlock's curls around his fingers. "No, love. I can't get sick. I can kip on the couch."

Sherlock frowned again. "That'll hurt your shoulder. You should go upstairs, back to your old room."

"No, Sherlock, I need to be able to hear you if anything happens. I'll be fine. Now go to sleep. Call me of you need anything." Still smiling, he kissed Sherlock on the forehead, wiped a few more sweaty curls out of face, and began to leave the room.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"... Thank you."

"You're welcome. Anything else?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock. Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

And that was how many habits were formed. While getting sick was still a fairly rare occurrence, it did now happen to Sherlock. Every time it would, John would make Sherlock soup (during that first sickness, Sherlock discovered he quite liked John's soup, and not only for it's seemingly magical healing powers), drink lots of water and grape juice (another substance Sherlock discovered had magical healing components of some sort), and he would always wear one of John's jumpers during the duration of the illness. He claimed it was for practicality, but both he and John knew it was because he secretly thought they were comforting. Every time Sherlock got sick, John would just smile and get out another jumper. And every time he got sick, Sherlock would look forward to the comfort and warmth of his doctor's woolen jumper.

* * *

_**A/N: Hello again! I am hyper and sleepy at the same time, and I'm not entirely sure why. On one hand, I want to go lay down and sleep. On the other, I feel like dancing and singing and bouncing off walls. Not entirely sure which I'm going to do yet. **_

_**Oh, and I just noticed that this is the first story in which John and Sherlock have said "I love you" to the other. Oops. **_

_**Also, it is true that grape juice has magical healing properties. Especially when you're sick. For some reason, whenever I drink it and I'm sick, I almost instantly feel ten times better. Also, of I ever start a company that sells juice, its name will be "Magical", and that way I can sell "Magical" Grape Juice, "Magical" Orange Juice, and so on and so forth. **_

_**I really do have the strangest ideas sometimes.**_

_**I'm also not entirely sure how the challenge of "wearing each other's clothes" became this experiment/hurt/comfort/sick!fic. Seriously. No effin' clue. If you can give me some idea, I will give you cyber-cookies. Because, if I'm completely honest, I have no idea how my own mind works and I just kind of roll with it. If any of you could give me insight, that would be great.**_

_**Very quickly, just so you know, I listened to "Hug Air A' Bhonaid Mhoir" by Julie Fowlis the entire time writing this. It has nothing to do with the story, I just thought you might like to know a random fun fact about my wrotong process. It's an awesome song.**_

_**Now to the part where I beg for reviews! Please, please, please, pleeeaaassseee leave me a review! You guys have no idea how much they mean to me. I always use these metaphors and sayings, but even they don't hold a candle to how much I love reviews! A review to me is like a triple homicide and John wrapped up in a warm fuzzy jumper for Sherlock- pure heaven. And then more. Because let's face it- I don't know if I'd be able to keep doing this without you guys and all your wonderful reviews. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.**_

_**Lastly, 16 FOLLOWERS YOU GUYS. HOLY SHIT. You blow me away with your kindness. Thank you. *sniffs back tears of joy***_

_**Goodnight, dear readers, goodnight. (Or good morning!)**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams'**_

_***bounces off walls**tries to parkour* *fails* *executes spectacular triple swan-dive face-plant***_


	7. Challenge 7: Cosplaying

_As always, dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD buddy. People dressed in tree costumes chasing other people down the street are the best. XD_

* * *

**DAY SEVEN CHALLENGE: COSPLAYING**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

It was for a case.

Well, of course it was. Sherlock never would have done anything so ridiculous for any other reason.

And honestly, it was ridiculous. Dressing up and acting like your favorite fictional characters? Didn't these people who "cosplayed", as they called it, have anything better to do? Sherlock certainly did. Experiments to perform, crimes to solve, things to deduce, people to piss off... He was a busy man.

If it hadn't been for the case, Sherlock never even would have known what cosplaying was. A serial killer was traversing the UK, going to conventions, selecting victims and killing them. The only thing the victims had in common is that they were all cosplaying at the time. Other than that, there were no similarities between them- some were teenagers, some were in their forties and fifties, some where male and some where female- there wasn't even any correlating ethnicities. They all just appeared to be random victims of a killer.

The police were baffled. They usually were, of course, but even more so than usual now. Sherlock was called in. He immediately knew a lit of information about the killer, but had no idea who it was. It was the that Sherlock had the brilliant idea of going undercover as cosplayers. Not that he wanted to, of course, but it was the quickest way to find the murderer. Which was how they found themselves in this mess.

* * *

Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect.

John had thought it was a perfectly good thing to cosplay as, if they were going to have to- no elaborate get-up, no complicated explanations required, and best of all, the only description ever given of the two in the books was that Arthur wore a bathrobe and Ford had wiry ginger hair brushed back from the temples and slightly too-wide smile, which often gave the impression he was about to go in for the neck. There were other minor details, of course, but those were the main things. John could be Arthur, Sherlock Ford.

It should have been simple.

Sherlock had a conniption fit when he saw the wig.

"NO, John, I am NOT wearing that monstrosity!"

"Sherlock, it's just a bloody wig! Not like it's anything elaborate or something like that. Just try it on!"

"NO!" came the indignified, if slightly muffled, response. Sherlock was currently laying face down on the couch as if to hide from the wig currently in John's hands. John sighed, and set down the wig. "Sherlock, you don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I just got it to help improve the accuracy of your costume." He put his fingers to the bridge if his nose, and sat down on his chair. "I'm just as unenthusiastic about this as you are."

"Really? Are you really, John? Because it seems as if-"

"Yes, Sherlock, I am. May I remind you, this was _your_ idea. You were the one that said it was the fastest way to get to the murderer."

"And it is. But I am doing it with great reluctance. You, on the other hand, seem to be enjoying this."

"Well, believe me, Sherlock, I'm not. The convention's tomorrow. Hopefully we can go there, no one will recognize us, we'll catch the murderer, and we can go home and put this behind us." Standing up, he walked over to where Sherlock was laying on the couch. Bending over, he turned the grumpy detective over and placed kiss on his still-frowning lips. "I'm going to bed. We can figure this out in the morning. Come on, Sher." He pulled on the detective's arm and dragged him to bed.

* * *

"NO, JOHN!"

"Dammit, Sherlock! Just put on the tie!"

"No! This is ridiculous! I'm already-"

"Put. It. On." John's voice came out low and dangerous as he spoke through his teeth. Sherlock's eyes widened as the doctor grabbed him from behind and wrapped the scarf around his neck. Spluttering, he turned around so John could tie it without strangling him. Once the knot had been tied (a little more forcefully than necessary), Sherlock growled at John. John smiled in return. "Now see," he said, "that wasn't so bad now, was it?" He pulled the grumpy detective down for a kiss.

Sherlock examined his lover as he pulled away. John's hair, normally neatly combed, was unbrushed, and he currently had quite the bedhead. He was still in his pyjamas and had a green bathrobe on. Sherlock felt uncomfortable. He his normal dress pants and shirt on, but the strange vest and tie were new additions. That, and John had insisted that if he wouldn't wear the wig he brush his hair back. In short, neither of them looked like themselves. Sherlock supposed that was rather the point, but it didn't make him any more comfortable.

As they left the flat and hailed a cab, Sherlock almost prayed that the cabbie that picked them up would be someone who didn't recognize them. He groaned as the cabbie that picked them up most regularly pulled up. "Sherlock, John," he greeted them with a nod. He then choked when he saw what they were wearing. "'Scuse me for asking, but what the 'ell are you wearing?" he asked, laughing. Sherlock seethed while John pulled out cash. "We'll give you extra if you don't mention this to anyone," he said, blushing furiously. The cabbie, still laughing, waved them in. "Of course, of course."

Sherlock was considering murdering the murderer when he found him. Sure, disguising themselves had been his idea, but he was beginning to seriously regret even taking the case. Groaning, he leaned his head back into the seat and hoped they caught the killer quickly.

* * *

They had managed to make it into the convention without incidence. No one recognized them, which Sherlock and John were eternally grateful for. Once they were inside, they actually began to relax a little. A lot of people were also cosplaying, so they didn't stand out. Some people even complimented them. Sherlock and John were in their element. Sure, they were dressed strangely, in the middle of a convention, but this was what they did best- catching criminals and solving crimes.

And the criminal was proving very difficult to catch. Even Sherlock and his amazing deductive skills couldn't find anyone who looked like he (or she, but really, a male was statistically more likely) might be a murderer. He narrowed the list down some, though.

He had begun to question some people who he assumed were dressed as characters from some classic fantasy book series (Lord of the Rings, he'd thought he'd heard John say- whatever that meant) when he saw them.

And "they" were Sergeants Anderson and Donovan.

Who were also cosplaying.

And dressed in Star Fleet uniforms.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but probably only lasted a few seconds. Sherlock, for once in his life, felt his mind go blank from shock. Sally's mouth was wide open with shock and Anderson's eyes seemed as if they would pop out of his skull.

Sherlock regained his ability to speak a few seconds after, and strode over to meet them. John, still slightly shocked, followed shortly behind.

"Anderson. Fancy seeing you here. And Sally, please do close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

Sally shut her mouth with a snap. "What do you want, freak?" Anderson growled. Sherlock grinned smugly. "We're here for a case- you know, catching a murderer and all. A case, if I remember correctly, you two are both on. Pray tell, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," Anderson sneered, "What exactly are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing really. I'm sure the others at the yard would be thrilled to know about this little hobby of yours, however."

Anderson appeared to be too furious for words. Sally, however, finally spoke up. "Fine. Fine. You know what? You can threaten us all you want, but you don't realize that most of the yard already knows. And guess what? They don't care. That's right. They. Don't. Care. Some of them even come with us sometimes. I think that they'd love to hear about you, though."

Sherlock was now audibly growling. John, sensing how quickly this situation was going downhill, and interrupted before things could get any more out of hand.

"Oi! All of you! Shut up and listen!"

They all bit their tongues and turned their heads to look at the army doctor. He seemed to emanate a certain force which made it impossible for them to turn away.

"Right. Now, we're here to catch a murderer. I don't know why you two are here, but I'm going to assume that you are here for the same reason. Since all four of us are here, why don't we try to find him and then we can go our separate ways, and never mention this again. Agreed?"

Sherlock was about to protest when he saw the look on John's face. Grudgingly, he muttered through his teeth, "Agreed." Anderson and Sally did the same.

John smiled, stepped back, and clapped his hands. "Now, have you seen anyone suspicious while you've been here?"

* * *

Catching the killer didn't take too long afterwards. Sherlock spotted him growing closer and closer to the four of them. He silently pointed him out to the other three, and then led the group to a place where they could easily capture the killer.

The people at the convention would speak for years about the time Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect, Lieutenant Uhura, and Captain Kirk all arrested a murderer at the same time. And the YouTube video got hundreds of thousands of hits.

Sherlock and John enjoyed a well deserved laugh on the way back to 221B. The excitement eventually died down, and they were back to lounging around lazily, John typing up a blog post about their adventure and Sherlock reading the personals of a woman's magazine. Suddenly, Sherlock turned his head towards John.

"John?"

"Yes?" John looked up from his typing to look at the detective.

"Today was a success." No hesitation in his voice, just straight up facts.

"Yes, I would say so. Why?" John leaned back, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his back, before yawning and looking at the detective again.

"Say another case like this ever came up again..."

John raised an eyebrow.

"How would you feel about going as characters from those Bond movies you made me watch?"

John laughed and stood up. He placed a kiss on the top of Sherlock's curly head. "That would be absolutely fine. I love you, you know."

"But it would only be for a case. Of course."

John sat down next to the detective, smiling and wrapping a hand around his middle.

"Of course."

They had a "case" similar to that one once a year from then on.

* * *

_**A/N: Heyyy! I'm not gonna lie, this chapter was an absolute BITCH to write. I literally started and scrapped three different stories for this prompt before I started this one. I thought I had a plan. And then I discovered I didn't. Then I tried filling Star Trekker 13's suggestion, which was for a nearby cinema to be having a Bond night, and Sherlock and John go dressed as Bond characters. This is a brilliant prompt, but I quickly realized it couldn't be filled by me... mostly because I've never actually seen any James Bond movies. I still managed to find a way to include it, though. I'm sorry I couldn't fill it any more than that. **_

_**Anyways, again, this challenge was HELL for me to write. Not only did I struggle with writer's block all day (it took me all day to write this), but I had to fight to keep the characters in-character (still not entirely sure how well I succeeded) and make this not so... weird and boring to read. Hopefully tomorrow's should be easier to write. I'm sorry if this sucks and you hate it. I hope I didn't ruin this story for you with this chapter. **_

_**Also, I have decided to post my plans for the next 23 days, more or less (these are subject to change). Here you go. **_

_**08 - Shopping  
09 - Hanging out with friends  
10 - With animal ears  
11 - ? (I didn't like this day's challenge, and have yet to come up with a replacement. Actually, if anyone has any suggestions... please tell me. I need a prompt for this.)  
12 - Making out  
13 - Eating icecream  
14 - Genderswapped  
15 - In a different clothing style  
16 - During their morning ritual(s)  
17 - Spooning  
18 - Doing something together  
19 - In formal wear  
20 - Dancing  
21 - Cooking/baking  
22 - In battle, side-by-side  
23 - Arguing  
24 - Making up afterwards  
25 - Celebrating Christmas  
26 - Gazing into each other's eyes  
27 - On one of their birthdays  
28 - Doing something ridiculous  
29 - Doing something sweet  
30 - Getting married**_

_**So, yeah. If any of those prompts don't appeal to you, just don't read on those days.**_

_**And holy crap, you guys! It's been one week since I started this fic, but it feels like forever. I can't thank all of you enough for reading this. Your support means so much, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.**_

_**I still am listening to Hug Air A' Bhonaid Mhoir. Seriously, that song is so catchy and addicting.**_

_**Please, please, pleeeaassseeee leave me a review! I'll love you forever if you do. *puppy eyes* pleeeaaassseee? They are to me what triple homicides and John wrapped up in a fuzzy jumper are to Sherlock- beautiful and amazing and all that is good in life. **_

_***pleading intensifies***_

_**Thank you so much!**_

_**To another week's worth of stories. *raises toast***_

_**Goodnight (or good morning)!**_

_**Also, one last thing. I hope I didn't offend anyone with the cosplaying jokes I threw around in this fic. I cosplay myself, and I was careful to not include anything people might take offense to, but just in case I failed- I'm sorry. I still love you all.** _

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***aggressively headbangs to classical music* *hits head on wall accidently***_


	8. Challenge 8: Shopping

_Dedicated once again to my dear Sherlock ADD buddy. And in that moment, I swear we were all Mrs. Hudson. Remember, 051113._

* * *

**DAY 8 CHALLENGE: SHOPPING**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

"We need milk."

John set down the newspaper he had been trying to read with a groan. "Sherlock, I got milk two bloody days ago. What the hell have you been doing that uses it up so quickly?"

Sherlock sniffed indifferently. "Experiments."

"Right. Of course." John sighed and picked up the paper again, settling back into his chair.

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked in a falsely cheery voice, hoping Sherlock would pick up on his annoyance through the falsetto notes of happiness in his voice.

Of course, he didn't. This was Sherlock. "I said we were out of milk."

John brought his fingers to the edge of his nose. He swore that one day he would get an indent in his nose from having brought his fingers there so much. "Yes, you did. And what would you like me to do about it?"

"I'd like you to get some more. Why else would I mention it?"

John smiled a little as he turned the page. "Well, I'm not doing it for you. You want more milk so damn badly, you either get it yourself or wait until I go shopping again."

Sherlock sniffed indignantly. "I suppose I'll just have to wait then."

John laughed at his lover's antics. "Okay, then," he said. "You do that."

He doubted Sherlock would last a day.

* * *

In fact, Sherlock lasted two.

"JOHN!"

"What?!" came the muffled reply from the bathroom. John was taking a shower, and rather enjoying himself. He was hoping his detective hadn't lit anything on fire.

A bang sounded as Sherlock shoved his way into the bathroom. "John!" he cried. "Where's the milk?"

John realized too late that he had made an attempt to cover himself involuntarily, even though he was still behind the shower curtain and, to be quite honest, was not hiding anything the detective hadn't seen before. Blushing, he yelled, "What the bloody FUCK Sherlock? What the hell are you on about?"

Sherlock replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, "I came to ask you where the milk was."

"Sherlock," John said, his voice carefully controlled, "I told you that either you could get the milk or you could wait. So unless you are going to join me in here, I suggest you leave before I actually kill you."

"You did? Hm. Must gave deleted it. And actually, that's not a bad idea." John heard the sound of what was probably Sherlock's clothes falling to floor when the shower curtain was thrust open and in stepped a very cold, very naked, and very dirty Sherlock.

"SHERLOCK, WHAT THE HELL- WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU COVERED IN BLOOD?"

Sherlock's resulting laughter could be heard several flats away.

* * *

The next day, John went to get some milk, a very grumpy Consulting Detective in tow.

"John, I fail to why I need to go with you to get the milk."

"Because you appear to be incapable of getting it yourself, and I'm not going alone to get it."

Sherlock scowled the entire way to the Tesco's.

When they arrived, he immediately made a beeline for the milk. Or at least, he thought he did. What he actually did was lead them to the freezer section while John snorted at his haplessness. "John," he asked, "Why is there no milk?"

John chortled. "It's because there's no milk in the freezer section. Come on, Sherlock, let me show you." He then grabbed Sherlock by the arm and led him to the milk.

The confusion didn't end there, though. When they reached the milk aisle, Sherlock's eyes widened with awe and horror. "John," he whispered, "Why are there so many types of milk? And are all those brands really necessary?"

John chuckled softly. "I'm not really sure," he replied truthfully. "I guess that's just the way it is." Sensing Sherlock's confusion, he led him to the type of milk and brand he usually bought them, against Sherlock's protests ("I know what type of milk we get, John!" "Clearly not, Sherlock, or else you wouldn't be sitting there, staring like a helpless baby."), and guided them to the produce section. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well, I know we just came for milk, but now that I think about it, we're running low on some things I need."

"Wait. You could've just gone here by yourself, and I could've stayed home and finished my experiment."

"I suppose in retrospect, yes, but look at how much fun we're having!"

Sherlock gave John an impressive glare that would have made lesser men run for the hills, screaming in terror. Instead, John just grinned, eyes alight with mirth, and shoved the detective off in a random direction. "Go on, then. Explore! Find something for an experiment! Meet me at the from in ten minutes."

Sherlock was more than happy to comply with this directive. Looking back, John should've known that was a bad sign. But of course, he didn't at the time. He was just glad to let the detective out of his hair.

* * *

The slight smell of smoke was his first clue.

John, of course, didn't even register it. He lived with Sherlock bloody Holmes. The man used to smoke, constantly reeked of smoke, and it was a rule that at any given moment, something in 221B was smoking or aflame.

It had reached a point where unless something was absolutely generating smoke in front if his nostrils, he didn't even register that something was wrong. Which was why he wasn't alarmed when the smell of smoke began to waft across the store.

His second clue was the frantic cries of "Code red, code red, aisle five!" emanating from the loudspeaker. John registered this, but since the loudspeaker was garbled, he couldn't tell what it was saying. When the store employees began to rush across the store towards aisle five, he figured there had been a spill or something. Nothing to be concerned about.

His third clue was the subsequent explosion, smoke alarm going off and fire sprinklers letting loose their rain on the innocent customers.

That most definitely got John's attention. And it didn't take a genius like Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together.

John Watson was going to murder that man.

* * *

When it came down to it, it didn't matter what Sherlock's excuse was.

John didn't care whether it had been an experiment, a destructive surge of boredom, or an accident.

What mattered was they were banned from ever going to any Tescos, ever again, and the only reason they had avoided a lawsuit was because of a few calls made by the British government.

And the worst part? They didn't even get the bloody milk.

John seethed the entire way back to the flat. Sherlock made himself as small as he possibly could in the corner of the cab. He knew how much trouble he was in.

* * *

In the end, it didn't matter about all of that.

What mattered was Sherlock apologized to John. Something he hadn't done since- well, since he'd returned from his two year absense.

John had been sitting in his chair, refusing to speak or even look at Sherlock.

Sherlock was torn. On one hand, every fiver of his being wanted to make some remark about the store owner's intelligence, or how he had been bored.

But this was John. That wouldn't float well with him. This wasn't some silly mistake he had made that he could make John laugh about with a witty remark. He'd, to put it crudely, fucked up. Really badly. And no witty remark could help him now.

So he did the logical thing. He knelt next to John, gave him most sincere look, and apologized. He wasn't acting at being sincere, either- he genuinely was sorry. Not for blowing up the store, but for upsetting John.

John only had to take one look at Sherlock to forgive him. The man was actually sorry, and apologizing, which provably took more effort than the detective would ever admit.

John leaned forward and kissed his curls. "I love you," he said.

Sherlock smiled back, and turned his head up so he could kiss John on the mouth. "I love you too," he whispered, so softly even John couldn't hear.

It didn't matter. John didn't have to hear him say it to know what he meant.

* * *

Years later, when they were both old and grey, and Sherlock was keeping bees, and John was writing his novels and knitting jumpers for him and Sherlock, people would sometimes come up and ask them if they really had blown up a Tesco's.

They'd just turn to each other, look, and laugh.

* * *

_**A/N: Holy shit. What a day.**_

_**Okay, let me get this off my chest first. HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW SHERLOCK TRAILER?! SHERLOCK AND JOHN AND MARY AND MYCROFT AND MRS. HUDSON'S FUCKING REACTION AND THE INTERACTIVE TRAILER OH MY LORD. WHAT AN EXCITING DAY FOR OUR FANDOM.**_

_**Now for more serious business.**_

_**I've been suffering from depression for a long time. I don't want to get into detail, because to be honest, I don't want to spread details of my personal life across the 'net, but just know that last year, for a time, it was really bad. Really bad. I'm slowly recovering, and I've been fairly happy for the past few months, but every now and then I'll have a sudden resurgence. Sometimes it'll last a few minutes, sometimes a week, but it's there. **_

_**I woke up this morning fine. I was alright. Then the trailer was released, and for a time I was ridiculously happy and excited.**_

_**Then the excitement ended, and I felt... empty.**_

_**It's incredibly difficult trying to describe what being depressed feels like to someone who has never been depressed. Being sad, or empty, doesn't cover it.**_

_**I couldn't write. I couldn't think.**_

_**I eventually texted the two people in this world I trust the most (one of whom is my dear Sherlock ADD buddy) and talked to them. I didn't let them know what was going on, because usually just talking to them makes things better.**_

_**And make things better it did. I found the strength to write this, and I wrote it. I listened to two new songs ("Fred Astaire" by San Cisco and "We Try" by Ivy) and wrote. I got this done.**_

_**Long story short, my day wasn't the best, and I'm not sure how well this turned out because of it. I honestly can't tell you if this is funny or happy or angsty or bittersweet. I am emotionally numb right now. So I'm sorry if this sucks.**_

_**But to look on the bright side of things, I got this done. I am eight days into the challenge, which is seven days farther than I thought I'd get. I have 20 followers, 9 favorites, and 31(!) reviews, which is 20 followers, 9 favorites, and 31 reviews more than I thought I would get. I got an idea for a new one-shot that I can write once I'm done with this challenge. I found two new songs, I have successfully stolen my mom's pink snuggie, our fandom has had an exciting day, and I'm alright. Not happy, but alright.**_

_**That's the most I can ask for.**_

_**Please review. They are to me what triple homicides and John wrapped in a wamr, fuzzy jumper are to Sherlock- rather an awful lot. You guys really do have no idea how much reviews to me. Thank you so much.**_

_**I love you all.**_

_**Goodnight, readers, goodnight. (Or good morning.)**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***attempts to dance to "Fred Astaire" by San Cisco* *doesn't fall or trip for once* *makes a fool out of self with embarrassing dance moves, though***_

_**P.S. I have a challenge for day 11! The lovely PennamePersona suggested parental introductions, which is, in the eternally wise words of Arthur Knapp-Shappey, "Brilliant!" Much like polar bears and camels. Thank you, my dear, thank you. **_

_**P.P.S. I am determined to write, bu reeaaallllyyy not looking forward to, the genderbent challenge, which is day 14. If anyone has any suggestions, whatsoever, to make that day easier to write, I will happily accept them. All I've got so far is that it's an AU. I know, that's not really specific. Hence me asking for help. Please, please, help me with this one. Otherwise I'm probably going to end up with a sloppy, crappy fic with them PMSing at each other. Please help me. Please. I'm desperate.**_


	9. Challenge 9:Hanging w Friends

_For my dear Sherlock ADD buddy. You are the reason I haven't stabbed myself in the eyes while trying to do this. What's this, you ask? Everything. Life, the universe, this challenge, everything. _

* * *

**DAY 9 CHALLENGE: HANGING OUT WITH FRIENDS**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes discovered a while ago that he had friends. He knew he had John, and Lestrade, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson and maybe even Mycroft. He wished it hadn't taken him pretending to be dead for three years to realize it, but he had friends in those people.

John, however, had friends.

Some were remnants of his uni days. Mike Stamford was a prime example. Others were old army buddies. He was even still in contact with some people he'd been friends with during primary and secondary school. Then there were the yarders- even though many of them weren't on friendly terms with a certain consulting detective, they all liked John- especially the effect he had on Sherlock. He made the detective more... Human, for lack of a better term. He was less likely to insult them, and more likely to be in a better mood when the doctor was around.

But when Lestrade mentioned to the good doctor that he and a few of his fellow officers were planning on hitting the nearby pub after work, he was inviting John- not Sherlock. It wasn't as if he was trying to be mean- it was just, well... It didn't really seem like something Sherlock would enjoy. And as much as Lestrade respected Sherlock, even liked him, half of the time he ended up drinking was a direct result of an encounter with the man. So to invite him along would not only be a most likely useless invitation, but counterproductive as well.

Lestrade hadn't counted on Sherlock being right behind John when he invited him to come along with then to the pub.

"Sure, sounds great," said John with a smile in response to Lestrade's question.

Sherlock suddenly glided out from behind John. Neither John nor Lestrade were entirely sure how the tall and lanky detective had managed to hide behind the admittedly smaller doctor. "I'll be coming as well, I assume?" he asked, stepping beside John.

Lestrade didn't know what to say. He hadn't wanted the detective to come, and he still didn't. However, he couldn't just tell the man no- it would just piss him off, and he would show up anyways and make their time more miserable than it would have been if he came along with an invitation.

Lestrade believed this situation was the very definition of a Catch-22.

"Shit," he groaned internally. "Sure," he said, putting on a grin that was so pathetically fake that he felt a bit like the Cheshire Cat. "That's fine. Great." He awkwardly began to walk backwards, almost running in his haste. "See you at seven!" he called out, before running away and breaking into a full blown run.

The other yarders were not going to be happy with him.

* * *

Sherlock rushed into his and John's bedroom as John was in the middle of changing.

Many moons ago, John would've objected. He had learned since then, however, that the detective did as he damn well pleased whenever he wanted to, and no amount of objection on John's part would change that. Also, since they had gotten together, he had quickly learned to lose whatever objections would form on his lips when Sherlock barged in. There were, of course, exceptions, such as when Sherlock barged in on John when he was trying to shower privately, or when he caught John off-guard.

John sighed and finished slipping a pair of trousers over his red pair of pants. "What do you want, Sherlock?" he asked. "I know that you have more experience in this area than I do..." he began.

"Yes?"

"...and I was wondering, what exactly does one do at a pub?"

John ogled at Sherlock. "You can't seriously tell me you've never been to a pub?" Then he smacked his forehead as he remembered, yes, that was exactly the sort of thing Sherlock would tell him.

"Sherlock, people go to pubs for many different reasons. The main one is to drink, but some go to have fun with friends of theirs, some go to try and hook up with people, and others go to try and get over something if they're sad."

"Oh. I assume we're going to be going there to 'hang out with friends'?"

"Yes, Sherlock, we are."

Sherlock plopped down on the bed. "When are we leaving then?"

John laughed. "Look at you, so eager to go. Lestrade said seven, so I'm going to take a wild guess and say seven."

John most likely should've been suspicious by how willing Sherlock was to go to the pub, but of course he wasn't. In his defense, Sherlock wasn't actually planning anything bad. That didn't mean things didn't go wrong, though.

* * *

Their night was... Interesting, to say the least.

When Sherlock and John arrived, Lestrade went up to greet them, a genuine (if slightly nervous) smile on his face. John went up to spot where the most of the Yarders were sitting, and easily slipped into the conversation. Sherlock slid into the spot next to John, but remained quiet and simply observed. To no one's surprise, he didn't order anything- he just sat and watched. Everyone who knew him was slightly terrified at how quiet he was being, but eventually calmed down due to the drink and easy conversation.

The trouble didn't start until someone spiked the pop Sherlock had been drinking. (Sherlock claimed for years afterwards that it had been Anderson, who vehemently denied it. In fact, it was him, but he would never admit to it.)

For it appeared as if Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed (and wrongly-proclaimed) high-functioning sociopath, who had a high tolerance for pain, drugs, and stupidity (although it didn't appear as such, compared to him everyone else was fantastically stupid, and he had to have a fairly high tolerance in order to survive in a world run and occupied by idiots- the insults were just his way of coping when the stupidity levels reached too high a level) had an extremely low tolerance for alcohol.

It started with his proclamation that everyone was "thtupid".

"Sherlock, are you lisping?" asked a shocked and highly amused John.

"What do you mean, lithping?" responded Sherlock. "I haven't lithped thinthe I wath a child."

"Oh my god," John said, laughing hysterically. "My boyfriend has a drunk lisp." When he saw Sherlock's scowl, he just laughed harder.

Things quickly went downhill from there. No one ever quite remembered fully what happened that night, but they know they got kicked out sometime after Sherlock had begun deducing the bartender's darkest secrets (apparently he had a second family, which he kept hidden from his first), and before he could carry out his plan to try and set fire to the bar stool. And while there wasn't video proof (something Sherlock was eternally grateful for), they were all fairly certain that at some point the detective had joined Lestrade, John, and Anderson for a round of karaoke.

John had to carry the extremely drunk detective all the way from the cab, up the stairs to 221B, and into their shared bed. As he set the man on the bed, still fully clothed, he began rambling something about bees and the number fourty-two. John chuckled at his seemingly random mutterings. "Oh, you're going to regret this in the morning," he whispered, as he slipped off most of his clothes until he just had his pants on. He then slipped I to had next to the detective and kissed him quickly on the lips. "Goodnight, 'Lock," he whispered. "I know you didn't want this to happen, and I promise I'll complain to Lestrade about whoever spiked your drink, but I had fun with you tonight."

"Love you, Jawn," slurred Sherlock. John laughed softly before whispering, "Love you too, Sherlock," before falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

There was hell to pay the next morning.

Not only was Sherlock suffering from a massive hangover, but he was extremely irritated that someone had had the nerve to spike his drink.

"And you!" he yelled, rounding on John. "Why didn't you take away my drink when you noticed it had been spiked?"

"I did," John sighed, rubbing his throbbing head. "Once I knew what was going on though, you'd already had half. Apparently that is more than enough to get you drunk."

Sherlock sat down on the couch, putting his head in his hands in anguish. "I acted like an absolute buffoon last night, John," he moaned. "I'm never accompanying you to another pub again."

John couldn't restrain the laughter that bubbled up inside of him. "I'm sure that's fine with the rest of the Yard," he said. He then covered his head with his hands in an unsuccessful attempt to make the throbbing go away.

* * *

Sherlock actually never did go to another pub again.

That was okay, though. There were activities Sherlock did with John, and with the other few people he could count among his friends. Going to pubs just wasn't one.

He was, however, teased for years by John over the drunk lisp. John was the only one, though. Donovan dared once and the strength of the glare she got from both of the men made her shut up, and bit speak again for the rest of the crime scene.

And the karaoke, although there was no video proof available to the public, made for some _killer _stories. And blackmail for Mycroft. Because of course he had access to the security cameras in the pub.

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, you guys, I am friggin' EXHAUSTED.**_

**_I have some things to apologize for. First off, for publishing this so late. It's technically, as of now, six minutes past when I should have published this. By the time this author's note is done, it should be somewhere around twenty. So, sorry about that. My day was crazy busy, and I actually did my homework tonight instead of ignoring it and hoping it goes away on its own. _**

**_Also, I must apologize for this particular challenge. It is probably the stupidest, most OOC, and ridiculous of my stories so far. I can barely think straight, and I literally just finished writing this. I didn't go over it, or think out a better plot because I wrote about 75% within the past half hour. I was desperate, and needed SOMETHING. I'll probably redo this chapter on some later date, if only to make it make more sense. Again, I'm sorry. I expect better from myself, and I know you do, so I'm sorry for letting you down. I hope tomorrow's will be better._**

**_I'm too tired to even do my normal metaphor shtick. Even though this chapter sucks, please leave me a review. They make my day so much brighter and happier and sunshine-ier... I think that's a word. Is it? It should be._**

**_Shit, I'm rambling. I'll just put this author's note out of its misery now and say goodnight._**

**_Goodnight or good morning, dear readers, wherever you are. I love you all and I hope your day is sunshine-ier for reading this._**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_P.S. I don't know if you can tell, but when I'm extremely tired I act like I'm drunk. Hence "sunshine-ier". And there really wasn't a point to the P.S., was there? Shit. Goodnight. _**


	10. Challenge 10: With Animal Ears

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. I'm sorry you're so sick. Being sick is not fun. The flu is not fun. Thank you for the digital Sherlock-strength aspirin you sen my way earlier, and the song, which you should know, I am still listening to (goddamnit). I hope you enjoy this. :3_

* * *

**DAY 10 CHALLENGE: WITH ANIMAL EARS**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Sherlock experimented frequently.

Most everyone knew this, and none more than John Watson. He did live with the man, after all, and was dating him.

Most of the time, Sherlock was careful and his experiments would go according to plan. Every now and then, though, something would go wrong. It usually ended with an explosion of some sort, and the fire department occasionally had to be called, but these occasions became less and less frequent as the years went on.

Then there were times when things went horribly, catastrophically wrong. In the seven years John had lived in Baker Street, that had only happened once before. It had ended with the army making an appearance at their flat, many hours spent tracking down the creations Sherlock had unleashed on the streets, and many calls made by Mycroft to make sure Sherlock wasn't thrown in an insane asylum for the rest of his life.

A second event was about to be added to that list.

* * *

Nobody, not even Sherlock, was entirely sure how an experiment involving cat DNA and some strange purple substance he had stolen from a government lab had gone so terribly wrong. Although, in retrospect, he supposed he should've known better than to experiment with a strange purple substance he stole from a government lab.

What Sherlock and John did know was this, though- Sherlock had been experimenting with the two substances mentioned above, and John had been in the kitchen while this experiment was going on. He was just an innocent bystander- he'd been in the process of making tea when it happened. "It" being Sherlock slipping on a puddle of water while carrying the purple substance with the cat DNA mixed in, falling and breaking the container, and having it explode into a noxious fume of purple gas that made them both fall unconscious.

When John woke up, something wasn't quite... Right.

And it wasn't the fact that there was still purple fumes everywhere, glass shattered on the floor, and an unconscious consulting detective lying on the floor.

No, it was the fact there was a pair of honest-to-god cat ears sticking out of his curls.

John didn't touch the top of his head. He most certainly did not. Because if he had and discovered a similar pair on top of his head, he would end up passing out again. And then strangling Sherlock when he awoke.

Sherlock stirred slowly, moaning softly. John waited patiently for him to wake up so he could explain what the hell was going on and how he planned to rectify the situation.

Sherlock sat up slowly, putting his hand to his head in order to stop the throbbing, but stopping when he felt something that shouldn't be there. Two somethings, actually. Two fuzzy somethings.

A quick look up at John confirmed his hypothesis.

"Oh."

"Oh, what?" John hissed through his teeth.

"I appear to have made an error."

"Well, no bloody fucking shit, Sherlock," John growled. "Please tell me you have a cure for- for whatever this is."

When Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, John cut him off. "And I suggest you think very carefully about what you're going to say next," he warned.

Sherlock gulped, before answering cautiously, "I don't. However..."

"However _what_?"

"... I stole this compound from one of Mycroft's labs. He is undoubtedly already aware of our situation, so we should just wait until I synthesize something or he sends something this way. And no," he said, seeing the look on John's face, "I am not calling him."

John stiffened. "And how long should this take?"

"Erm..."

"Sherlock. Tell me right now or I swear to god I will tell Lestrade about that one time-"

"You wouldn't dare," Sherlock whispered, eyes panicked.

"I would and I will if you don't tell me right now."

Sherlock winced. "It depends on the complexity of the compound, but-"

"No buts, Sherlock. When."

"I'd guess around a day."

If looks could kill, Sherlock would have melted into a puddle of goo right then and there.

"I just- I'll go get started and that shall I?" he asked, before hurriedly standing up, leaning on the table for support, and stumbling off to get the necessary equipment.

"That's more like it," John said contentedly to himself, before finally reaching up to touch the pair of ears that now currently resided on top of his head. He winced when he felt them.

There would be hell to pay if those things weren't off of him by the time he went to bed that night.

* * *

_We have a case. Can you come? -GL_

Sherlock felt himself light up with excitement before he remembered his and John's current situation, and how he was supposed to be fixing it. He sighed before he typed his reply.

_Can't. Busy. -SH_

His phone pinged again a few minutes later.

_Since when are you too busy for a crime scene? -GL_

That man knew him too well.

_Since now. Please stop bothering me. I am very busy right now. -SH_

_Too busy for a double homicide? -GL_

Oh, damn it all to hell.

_Fine. What's the address? -SH_

* * *

"Sherlock," John said slowly, "Please tell me you didn't actually tell Lestrade we were going to a crime scene like this."

Sherlock automatically took a step backward. "It's a double homicide," he defended himself. "And Mycroft called me earlier, and said he'd have an solution delivered by early tomorrow morning."

John sighed and grabbed his lover by the shirt. Pulling him in for a kiss, he growled, "It's a damn good thing I love you." He then walked into their room. Sherlock hears rustling as he searched for something, and then came back out with two hats. One of which was a beanie, and the other was the hat. The ridiculous deerstalker he deeply regretted wearing all those years ago, and still resided in 221B simply because John caught Sherlock every time he tried to throw it out. Sherlock practically hissed when he saw the thing.

John laughed, because as it turned out, the ears that poked through his lover's ebony curls had the full range of motion of a normal cat's ears, and flattened backwards when he saw the hat. While John was still highly irritated with the detective, he found the sight highly amusing.

"What is that for?" Sherlock spat out. John just shoved the hat on top of his head, being careful not to crush the ears on top of his head. Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably the entire time.

John then pulled the beanie over his head, wincing as he felt the hat tug on the ears.

He helped Sherlock shrug on his coat, threw on his own, grabbed his wallet and followed Sherlock out of the flat.

* * *

Lestrade did a double take when he saw the detective and his blogger as they walked into the crime scene.

"I thought you hated that hat."

"Apparently my hatred for it was not as strong as you believed. Now, can we go in?"

Lestrade, sensing Sherlock's discomfort, pressed on, grinning evilly. "Really? Because you have said many times that you hate the damn thing."

"Well, I'm wearing it now, aren't I? Maybe I got cold."

"You? Get cold? Sherlock, I've never seen you willingly wear a hat in public unless it was part of a disguise."

"Most body heat is lost through the head."

"Doesn't change the fact that I've never seen you willingly wear that thing before now, Sherlock."

"I thought you called me in here to solve a crime, not chatter meaninglessly about my choice in hats," was Sherlock's curt reply. Lestrade, still grinning maliciously, let them in.

* * *

Sherlock had solved it in ten minutes.

It would've been five if he hadn't had to take a few minutes outside to readjust his hat after his ears had nearly pushed it off of his head when the perked straight up after making a particularly brilliant deduction.

Later that night, after they had gone home and lay in bed together, John found himself stroking Sherlock's curls, as he did most nights, when his hand accidently hit the ears. Both he and Sherlock stopped and gasped for a moment.

"Sherlock, love, I'm sorry-"

"No, John, it's... Fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay then." Slowly, John tentatively reached out and touched the furry objects sticking out of Sherlock's head. Sherlock tensed for a moment, before relaxing, and... Jesus Christ, was the man purring?

John decided he didn't want to know. He did like stroking the ears, though. And that's exactly what he fell asleep doing.

* * *

The next morning, a package was delivered to them with the simple instruction, "Mix in with your morning tea. -MH".

And that's exactly what they did. They both passed out (again) and when they came to an hour later, their ears were gone. And things returned to their typical state of normalcy at 221B.

Well, as normal as it would ever be as long Sherlock Holmes, World's Only Consulting Detective, part-time mad scientist, and his shorter and friendlier boyfriend flatmate, and blogger Captain John Watson, MD, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, resided in it.

Oddly enough, neither of them minded.

* * *

**_A/N: Whoa, you guys. I'm publishing early tonight! (Well, early for me.) The reason for this is because I actually got sick, and am still sick, and am currently hating whatever virus I have that is currently giving me a migraine, and fever chills, because really, it's already 19 bloody degrees outside and I live in a bloody desert and isn't that cold enough already? Fuck you, virus. FUCK. YOU._**

**_*coughs awkwardly* In other news..._**

**_PennamePersona commented in chapter 2 that "I love how Sherlock always gets portrayed as cat-like. I can totally see it and it makes me smile. :)" So, my dear, I wrote this thinking of you. _**

**_So, yeah. I stayed home from school today because I woke up with horrible stomachache, and it appears as if while I was staying home for feeling sick, I actually got sick. Yay. *insert sarcasm here* So, not sure if I'm going to go to school tomorrow either. Which will suck for me, but be great for you guys, because it'll mean I'll update early again. So, enjoy a little happiness from me. It'll only be at the cost of my misery and suffering._**

**_I'm quite the sarcastic little shit when I'm sick._**

**_Also, as of the publishing of this, I will officially be a third of the way through the prompts! Woot! To be completely honest, I'm going to be sad when this is over. Even though it takes up a lot of time, I'm learning a lot (like how to write better and longer chapters/stories, how to time-manage more successfully, etc.), and I love you guys all so much I'll be sad to see you go._**

**_But hey, we've still got twenty more days, right?_**

**_Also, I have officially finished the second crack challenge (as I call them in my head). I've strated calling the sillier, and more nonsensical prompts "crack challenges"- the first being the Cosplay challenge, the second being today's. The next is day thirteen- the "Eating ice cream" challenge. Should be fun, right? Oh, and I'd like to send a HUGE thank you to ThespiansKC and mervoparkite for the suggestions for help with the Genderbend challenge. I love you both- you are AMAZING. *huggles*_**

**_On an unrelated note, I just realized the massive pile of fics I need to work on/ need to start work on. There is literally a shitload. I'm not even joking. I have three WIPs that I need to update, a series of kid!lock drabbles I need to start for my friend as a sort of really super late birthday present, a Johnlock parent!lock I started but never finished and another friend requested I finish, which now I have to do because she's just an amazing person, and five (count 'em- FIVE) stories I started co-authoring with the friend who I'm writing the kid!lock for and we never finished, but I desperately want to._**

**_And the list goes on. I have some Drarry (from Harry Potter) fanart I need to draw for a girl I've known since Kindergarten, as a sort of "Happy 16th Birthday, holy shit we've known each other for eleven years" present, a piece of Sherlock fanart I drew a while back I need to finish digitally coloring, two prompts sent to me (thankfully by personal friends, so they aren't mad I haven't done them yet) I need to finish/start, a one-shot I wrote and need to go back and seriously edit, two one-shots I have had ideas for that I need to do, an idea for a super-long multi-chapter Sherlock fic inspired by the song "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heaps, and about ten unfinished stories I started but never finished just sitting on my phone, waiting for me to come back and finish them. And seven on my computer._**

**_Add the fact I'm doing this and I'm in all honors classes and have anywhere from two-eight hours of homework a night, I am literally barely managing to stay afloat in the stormy sea that is my life._**

**_That's not even counting my social life, which has problems of its own. My friends have problems and they xome to me I'm not sure why, they just do. And I have personal, home life problems I have to deal with._**

**_I am seriously surprised I haven't had an aneurysm yet. I'm never going to give up on fanfiction, though- it is one of the few things that brings me pleasure in my otherwise dull and stressed existence. _**

**_I'm sorry I ranted. I just needed to get that off my chest. Please, please, please leave me a review. Today's day ten, so I have a new metaphor- reviews are to me what strawberry jam is to John. That alone should be enough to convince you to review. Please, please, please review. Make my suffering of this virus better by making me smile even though my head is throbbing._**

**_I have yet again stolen my mother's pink snuggie and am currently shivering under it. Life is good._**

**_Goodnight, (or good morning),_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_*stares creepily at reader while reciting the words to "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap* *stubs toe on wall and falls down stairs while trapped in pink snuggie*_**


	11. Challenge 11: Familial Introductions

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. The next time someone asks me what I'm reading, I'll say "gay Johnlock porn" and think of you. :)_

* * *

**DAY 11 CHALLENGE- FAMILIAL INTRODUCTIONS (as prompted by PennamePersona)**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

When John Watson first met Mummy Holmes, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

On one hand, this was Sherlock they were talking about. For all he knew, Mrs. Holmes could be an older, greyer, female version of Sherlock. Or she could be a typical loving mother figure. He didn't know about Mr. Holmes, and didn't want to know. The little Sherlock had told him about him made him glad the man had died fifteen years ago.

What John wasn't expecting was for Mummy Holmes to be... Well, Mummy Holmes. She was uncategorizable, a force of nature all her own, just as unique as either of her boys.

When the invitation came in the mail, Sherlock had been hesitant to reply. John, however, while nervous, wanted to meet the woman who was responsible for raising the man he loved.

Mrs. Holmes was holding her annual ball at the Holmes estate. Sherlock hadn't gone in many years (not since he'd moved out, in fact), but when John said he wanted to go he knew there was no choice. He silently cursed his mother and her cleverness. He knew his was a plot on her part- not only to get to see him again, but to meet the man he had finally settled down with. (Well, as much as Sherlock Holmes could ever settle down.)

So, preparations were made, gloats were made (by Mycroft), near panic attacks were held (Sherlock couldn't help it that he was slightly terrified of his mother), and a very curious doctor waited patiently.

The day of the ball, Sherlock dresses in his finest and John rented the finest London had to offer. (Even though he was dating Sherlock Holmes, and therefore was invited to many more fancy social events than he had ever been before, he wasn't a suit-wearing man and never would be.) They took the car Mycroft was loaning them, and started the several hour long drive to the estate.

They arrived, and John was awed by the size of the estate. It shouldn't have surprised him that it was massive, but it still did. The other guests, where, of course, all ridiculously important, overly pompous men and women of the sort Sherlock hated and John could barely stand. John was beginning to understand why Sherlock never came to these.

And then he met Mummy Holmes.

If Mycroft was an icy blizzard, and Sherlock was a hurricane, then Mummy Holmes was a fire storm. And it wasn't just her hair- which was a fiery red (and curly like Sherlock's) even though it was now shot through with streaks of grey. Her facial structure was similar to Sherlock's, although more delicate. Her eyes were a bright, fiery blue that didn't shoot through someone like Sherlock's laser vision did, or scan someone like Mycroft's did- no, her eyes practically set whoever fell under their unfortunate gaze on fire. She was a few inches shorter than Sherlock, but still managed to be taller than John (who scowled when he noticed this), and was just as willowy and graceful- almost fluid-like in her movements, which contradicted her fiery nature, but one could sense the burning energy and purpose underneath. She was the sort of woman who didn't move or speak unless she had a reason, but when she was moved to she threw every ounce of her abundance of passion and energy into those actions. This was the sort of woman that would either be your best friend or worst enemy, with no in-between.

John was slightly terrified by her, and judging from Sherlock's body language he wasn't feeling much more confident.

She glided over (glided- John didn't know it was possible for a human being to do that outside of a dance routine before he met the Holmes family, but now knew that it was more than possible) and immediately spoke to Sherlock.

"Sherlock," she began. Her voice was startlingly pleasant, and held a certain elegant and lilting quality as she chastised her son. "It's been far too long since I've last seen you. Once a year dinners are not enough for a mother. You should know better. And what is this I hear about an army doctor?"

Mummy Holmes suddenly turned both of her terrifically bright blue eyes onto John, and he tried not to fidget as he felt her gaze passing over him.

"Dr. John Watson, I presume?" she asked, holding out her hand. Recognizing that he needed to kiss it, he bent down and gently brushed her knuckles with his lips and stood up. "Just John is fine, Mrs. Holmes," he said, suddenly very self-conscious.

"Don't be absurd, Dr. Watson," she said, smiling. "I will state the title rightfully given to you, and not let you demean yourself by insisting on 'just John'." John pulled awkwardly at his tie, but smiled in what he hoped was a winning fashion. "Of course, Mrs. Holmes."

She smiled slightly intimidatingly at him. "So, I understand you were an army doctor." John wanted to run away, as quickly as he could. When Sherlock had rattled off his life story the very first time he met the man, it hadn't alarmed him nearly as much as this woman was alarming him.

But then she did something he hadn't expected her to do- she noticed his discomfort, and smiled warmly. "I'm sorry for frightening you, Dr. Watson," she laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. "I'm just rather happy that Sherlock has finally found someone to be with. I was rather worried I wouldn't ever be able to attend his wedding." Her eyes widened as she noticed what she had said. "Not that I'm pressuring you to get married. Do everything in your own time."

John nearly choked. Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist, and whispered to his mother, "It's nice that you've finally gotten to meet John, Mummy, but shouldn't you be attending to other guests? Perhaps bugging Mycroft about his diet?"

Mummy Holmes dipped her head gracefully. "Of course." She then began to glide away again, before pausing, and turning back and frowning at Sherlock. "I really wish you would stop bothering your brother about his diet. Heaven knows he doesn't need it. If you don't stop bothering him, I may have to start bothering you about getting a haircut." She turned her head to the side, as if to get a better look at her son. "It is getting rather long, dear." She then smiled and looked at John. "It truly was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Watson. I hope I can see you again soon." She then began to glide away again, to speak with an important foreign dignitary, most likely.

John was torn between laughing at the half-horrified, half-furious expression that was currently on Sherlock's face and running away from the party and back to the safety at 221B. He had the feeling he'd passed some sort of test, though, and that made him smile with pleasure. He pulled Sherlock down and placed a quick kiss on his lips, shaking him out of his reverie.

Mummy Holmes was an interesting character, that was for sure.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes thought he had an idea of what to expect when he was to meet Harry Watson for the first time. He had deduced her existence from John's phone, after all- although he had, admittedly, gotten a fairly large detail wrong.

Harry had been sober for six months when John finally accepted her invitation to visit him. "And bring that flatmate of yours too!" she had said, and John could almost hear the malicious grin that was undoubtedly gracing her face at that moment. "I want to meet this boyfriend." John had just begun to groan out a "Harry-" when his sister hung up.

"Sherlock," he called out, "How would you feel about going to see my sister next weekend?"

As it turns out, Sherlock was more than okay. He was curious. The one Watson he knew had changed his life permanently for the better, and he was curious as to what a second Watson would be like.

Clara and Harry had tentatively gotten back together at around the four month mark, but still didn't live together again. So Clara was not there when John and Sherlock arrived at her doorstep, John worried and trying not to show it and Sherlock desperately curious to meet the second Watson.

She looked a little like John, Sherlock supposed. Her hair was the same texture, but light brown and wavy where John's was grey-blond and straight. Her eyes were decidedly hazel, as compared to John's deep blue, although they had the same eye shape. Her nose was slightly less pointy, lips slightly fuller, face slightly more angular. They had the same eyebrows, Sherlock noted with amusement. They were around the same height. All in all, they looked as if they were related, but it would be a bit hard to tell they were siblings at first glance.

And then Harry opened her mouth.

"John!" she yelled, and she ran and gave him a flying hug-leap. "Hey, Harry," he grunted. "I've missed you," she said accusingly. "Yeah, well-" John began before he was interrupted again.

Sherlock could tell right off the bat she worked a boring office job, but did art in her spare time. She also played an instrument (it appeared as if the guitar) and had a dog.

He couldn't tell that she would reach him, grab him by the collar of his coat and give him two, big, sloppy kisses on the cheek. "Hello, Sherlock," she said, grinning pleasantly. "Nice to meet you, Harriet " he said.

"You as well, Holmes," she called out. She paused at the doorway. "Well, come in!"

All in all, it was a fairly pleasant trip. Sherlock discovered Harry had a sense of adventure almost as large as her brother's, was much more crass than he was, had a decidedly dirtier sense of humor, but had the same inherent kindness and unpredictability that had drawn Sherlock to John at first.

The last day, she kissed Sherlock full on the mouth just to alarm him. Laughing, she pulled away to a scowling John Watson. "That's enough, Harry," he said, before pulling Sherlock down for a much harder, bruise-inducing kiss that would leave both of their lips swollen. As he pulled away, he rounded on her. "Don't do that again," he growled.

Harry couldn't stop laughing.

And Sherlock was satisfied with what he had learned about her. She was everything he had expected and more- truly a Watson in every sense of the word.

* * *

_**A/N: Holy shit, it's late. Or early, technically speaking. I'm going to try (and fail) to keep this brief.**_

_**First of all, I had a lot of fun with this challenge. Not only was it a brilliant prompt (I owe my eternal gratitude to PennamePersona), but I had a lot of fun imagining the characters of Mummy Holmes and Harry Watson. I'm a little disappointed I didn't go as far into detail with Harry's character as I wanted to, but there's only so much you can do when it's 11:30 at night and you are desperately trying to finish this on time. (Which I did- I finished at exactly 11:59. Ha!) Also, I plan to bring Harry and Mummy into some later challenges, where hopefully I can expand upon their characters some more. **_

_**Also, I am feeling better, for the most part. Still not in top shape, but I went to school today. And almost passed out a few times, but hey, all in a day's work, right?**_

_**Oh, and I have a message to you all from my friend!**_

_**Basically, I'd been reading some of your lovely reviews,which never fail to make me laugh and/or cry tears of joy, when my friend came up and asked what I was doing. I explained about my ridiculously long author's notes and all of you lovely reviewers (this is the chic I've known since Kindergarten, and we know everything about each other and tell each other everything), and she asked if she could see. The review it was on was . 's, where she remarked that she had been so excited upon seeing the new Sherlock trailer that she "fangirled for like half an hour and ran into a table, lol!". Which of course cracked me up, because my reaction was pretty similar. (I ran into a desk.) Anyways, she read some more, and started laughing. This was how the restof that conversation went.**_

_**Me: Yeah, my followers are amazing.**_

_**Her: *shakes head while laughing* You are insane. All of you, insane.**_

_**Me: You haven't even seen the show and you know everything about it because you read my fics and you like to steal my phone and read whatever fic I had been reading. What does that make you?**_

_**Her: Shut up or I will stab you in the trachea with this pen. **_

_**Me: *falls out of chair laughing***_

_**Her: Dammit, stop laughing! I'm trying to be serious!**_

_**And that, my dears, is our friendship in a nutshell. Oh, and by insane, she means awesome. She has a strange way of expressing things. **_

_**So, it is almost one in the morning and I am not tired, but probably need sleep. So please, please, please review. They mean as much to me as strawberry jam does to John, so a hell of a lot. Please. Thank you.**_

_**I hope you all have a fantastic, amazing, marvelous day(or night), and I wish you all the best.**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***flops onto bed* *somehow bounces off bed and hits head on wall* (have I mentioned these are all true stories?)**_

_**P.S. I couldn't stop listening to "Fix" by James Blackshaw as I wrote this. Or "Believers" by American Authors. Or Claire de Lune by Debussy. And I admit I spent a fair amount of time rocking out to Lindsey Stirling.**_


	12. Challenge 12:Making Out

_**A/N: Hey! I just needed to say a few quick things before we started.**_

_**One, I actually had this ready over an hour ago. But I go online, only to find that this lovely site was down. Needless to say, an obscene amount of obscenities were involved. **_

_**Two, this story was based loosely off of "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs", one of the original Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Holmes stories. If you haven't read it already, go read it RIGHT NOW. Not because it's necessary to understand this story, but because that man was a bloody genius, and our entire fandom wouldn't even exist if it weren't for him. So go read it. Now. Or shame will fall on you and your cow.**_

_**Three, my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy and I have decided to play a game called "The Travelling Apostrophe", which is loosely based off "The Travelling Lemon" from Cabin Pressure. Basically, there is a misplaced apostrophe somewhere in this story, and it's her job to find it and tell me where it is in a review. The reason i'm telling you guys is because a) I don't want to confuse you- that's not a typo, it's supposed to be there!, and b) To beg you to please, please, please, don't point it out if you find it. This is her challenge. Thank you for your cooperation. Now, onto the story. **_

* * *

_Dedicated, as always, to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Rocket science and theoretical physics is fun. Long live insomnia and moustachioed smilies! 8{D_

_The apostrophe is now in play. _

* * *

**DAY 12 CHALLENGE: MAKING OUT**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

It all started with a case, as most everything did.

And with this case, as with so many other cases, there was a dastardly criminal, threats, and danger. There was a chase down the back alleys of London and over rooftops, and he rally enough adrenaline and excitement to keep Sherlock's boredom at bay for a while and give John a lovely new post to add to his blog.

Oh, yes, and people shooting at them. That was to be expected. What was different, though, is that for some reason this criminal could actually aim and shot one of the duo.

Well, not necessarily shot, per say, but grazed.

"Son of a bitch," John growled under his breath as he wrapped a hand around his thigh.

To be honest, John wasn't sure what had gone wrong. They'd been waiting there for the man to show up, and when he did, he had almost been ashamed when he noticed there were two guns pointed at him. (Sherlock had pilfered Lestrade's.) It had seemed as if they finally had him trapped, and were about to call in Lestrade and his team when the man suddenly pulled out a revolver and fired two shots.

One went wild, burying itself in the wall behind John. He then felt a hot, searing pain in his thigh, which he recognized after having' experienced the pain once before in Afghanistan.

Sherlock's eyes had widened with panic. He took his gun and, without even thinking about it, smashed the man across the head with it, causing him to fall to the ground unconscious. He then wrapped his arms around John and led him to a chair sitting in the corner if the room.

"John? John!" he yelled. John winced, and gripped his leg tighter. Sherlock's eyes were alight with panic and fear as he took in the obvious pain on John's face. "John, let me see your leg!" His voice was borderline hysterical now. John was worried, but also touched by how worried the detective was. Even though they were partners, in more than one sense if the word, John hadn't seen this sort of panic on Sherlock's face since... Since, well, the pool, after he had ripped the vest off of John and started pacing around, scratching his head with the gun like a madman. Without giving John a chance to respond, he ripped John's hand off of his own leg and examined the wound. "Sherlock, he didn't hit me, it's just-"

"Superficial," Sherlock breathed, slumping a little as he exhaled with relief. He suddenly tensed again, as he turned around and faced the man who had caused this damage to John. "Just as well for him- if he had seriously injured you, he would not be alive right now."

John wanted to chastise the man, he really did. It was more than a bit not good to be making death threats. However, it would be hypocritical, seeing as John had killed a man within fourty eight hours of meeting Sherlock in order to protect his life, and honestly, John was touched. This was a vulnerable, more emotional side to Sherlock that very few ever got to see.

Sherlock, hands still shaking, pulled out his mobile phone. "I'll call Lestrade now." He gestured at John's leg, which John had started holding again to help stop the bleeding- though it wasn't life-threatening, he still needed to apply pressure. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, it's fine," John said, grunting a little as he shifted his weight. "Just need some plasters, and everything else can be dealt with back at the flat." He hissed as another wave of pain hit him. It may have been just a graze, but it hurt like hell.

"Okay," Sherlock said, still looking concerned, and he started the call to Lestrade.

"Hello, Lestrade. It seems as if John and I have once again done what you and your entire team couldn't..."

* * *

When all was said and done, things were almost normal at 221B Baker Street.

Almost.

John's wound was covered, post-case tea was had, crap telly was turned on, and Sherlock and John both sat in their respective chairs, laptops out, John typing up as much of the case as he could, Sherlock doing research on various rare forms of mould and fungi. To the average passerby, this would seem to be a normal evening in the flat.

Except...

Except the tension rolling off Sherlock in waves was almost palpable, and John was slowly losing his mind trying to ignore the stress his love was obviously under.

Fifteen minutes later, John sighed, gave it up as a bad job, shut his laptop and faced Sherlock. "Sherlock," he said, "We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what?" he asked, pretending to be distracted by the article in front of him. In reality, he was hanging onto John's every word.

John saw straight through Sherlock. "You tell me," he said. "I'm not the one that's acting ridiculously tense."

Sherlock shut his laptop, before facing John. He clenched and unclenched his hand slowly, and John saw how hard he was fighting to stay in control. "You could have died tonight, John," Sherlock said. No feelings, no emotions, just a simple statement of facts.

John decided to try and pull a page out of Sherlock's book. "Nice start, but I was hoping you'd go further," he said, a wicked grin falling on his face.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the response, but tried to keep going. "John-," he stated to say, but then he cut himself off. He stood up to leave the room.

John, cursing himself for his stupidity, stood up gingerly and guided Sherlock back to the couch. As much as both he and Sherlock knew that Sherlock wasn't really a sociopath, it was also extremely difficult for him to open up about things such as emotions. John was going to have to handle this carefully.

John wondered bemusedly for a second if this was what Ella, his former therapist, had felt like when she tried to talk to him.

"Sherlock," he said, setting him on the couch carefully. Sherlock looked at him, a blank expression on his face, and said simply, "Yes?"

John sighed. "Sherlock, look... I almost got shot again tonight. The only difference between tonight and every other night we do this together is it came a lot closer than normal." John saw how Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as he processed this information, and John saw how he could misinterpret it as John saying he was only in danger when he was with him-

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "No, Sherlock, that's not what I meant. Don't even think that's what I meant. You and I both know that I need this, and- dammit, Sherlock, what I'm trying to say is I could die any day, and today is no exception."

John didn't feel particularly smug as this got Sherlock's attention, because the look of horror on Sherlock's face was not worth any gloating rights he may have later. "Don't say that, John," he growled. "Don't ever say that."

"Why, Sherlock?" John questioned. He knew he was getting close now. "It doesn't have to be during the case with you. It could a be a car crash, or cancer, or a freak accident, or-"

"NO!" Sherlock bellowed. John winced, but stayed where he was. He needed to stand his ground. He needed Sherlock to admit what was bothering him so much.

What he didn't expect was the hot, greedy, passionate kiss he received.

John groaned involuntarily as Sherlock pressed his perfect cupid's bow lips onto his own thin ones. John let his lips yield to Sherlock's more demanding ones, and he relished the feeling of his soft lips against his own.

John opened his eyes a little to get a better look at Sherlock, and pushed a little closer to him. Twining a hand in the other man's dark, curly, soft hair, he looked at the delicate blush on those pale cheeks, and he breathed in the man's scent that was a perfect mixture of smoke, honey, exotic spices and vague chemicals. He felt his heartbeat elevate to heights he didn't know it could elevate to- until he met Sherlock. And he knew, no, felt Sherlock's heart do the same thing.

When Sherlock began to run his tongue teasingly over John's bottom lip, he was more than happy to admit entrance. He heard Sherlock groan as John tasted tea, peppermint, and honey in his mouth. He knew he let out a similar sound.

By the time John pulled away, gasping for air, Sherlock had take a step back. Panting, he looked at John heavily and said, "Don't ever say that again."

He then stepped forward and kissed him again.

"God, Sherlock," John moaned, and at that point he lost the ability to speak coherently.

Needless to say, that night ended very happily, for the both of them. And while the issue was briefly pushed aside, it was never resolved, and continued to fester slowly in the back of their minds for a while to come.

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, I did deliberately leave it on that note. Why? Because I'm an evil person, that's why.**_

_**No, not really. You see, my dearies, I actually kind of have a plan for this fic and am not just making it up as I go along. Actually, that's a lie. I have plans for two challenges. Everything else is just kind of made up on the spot. Anyways, the point is, there's going to be a follow up for this in several upcoming challenges, but seeing as they are a long ways off yet I didn't want to leave a cheesy "TO BE CONTINUED" underneath it. So, yeah, that's that.**_

_**Also, this was my first attempt to write a true kissing scene. Ever. I'm pretty sure I did a terrible job of it, but I actually did research for it. (No, I'm not joking. I actually looked up how to write good kissing scenes. And read an unhealthy amount of smut in an attempt to learn how to write kissing scenes. Oh, I learned... far, far too much.) So, I'm really sorry if this sucks. Hopefully the story was enough to put aside the truly terrible kissing scene.**_

_**Tomorrow's another crack challenge. "Eating ice cream". Yay. **_

_**Oh, and something interesting happened at school today.**_

_**My friends and I were discussing shipping, and somehow the topic of shipping real people with fictional characters came up. They actually went into a full-blown discussion about this, when I learned, half to my horror, half to my bemusement who they shipped me with.**_

_**The list was, I shit you not: Sherlock, John, Molly, Twilight Sparkle from My Little Pony (I don't even watch that show, so I have no idea), Martin and Douglas from Cabin Pressure, and **__**Sonic the Hedgehog**__**. I'm not even joking. And only half of our group was there for this discussion. Names will most likely be added tomorrow. I'm half flattered, half horrified. Sonic the fucking Hedgehog. What the actual fuck? And I don't even want to know for the My Little Pony thing. **_

_**I should probably sleep now. Please leave me a review- they mean as much to me as strawberry jam does to John! Please. *adorable puppy eyes***_

_**Goodnight, or goodmorning,**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***dances to Lindsey Stirling down stairs* *falls down stairs and lands and twists ankle* *wishes desperately for snuggie***_


	13. Challenge 13: Eating Ice Cream

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. While a ten foot pile of snow didn't fall on my school, as you wished, the gesture is appreciated. The apostrophe is now in play. X{D_

* * *

**DAY 13 CHALLENGE: EATING ICE CREAM**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

There are pictures on the walls of 221B.

Some are artwork, of the variety that Sherlock puts up. Others are of crime scenes, bodies, and whatever else Sherlock feels needs to be on the walls to help him think and puzzle out a case. Bur there are a few of the two of them, Sherlock and John, together.

These few pictures hang in places of honour- above the fireplace, in the hallway, above the couch. There is one that isn't hanging, and instead sits on the fireplace mantle. Sherlock likes pictures, but not ones with him in them- so John is always more than happy to find a place to hang a picture of him and his love on the rare occasions when one is taken and printed.

One of the most recent acquisitions was more than a bit silly, if John was completely honest with himself. It showed him and Sherlock together, him laughing, Sherlock scowling, holding ice cream cones with ice cream smeared all over their faces. Mrs. Hudson had been the one to take the picture, and when he printed it months later and gave it to John, John had been more than happy to hang it on the wall near the fireplace.

John was surprised it had taken Sherlock two says to notice the addition of the photo to the wall. "John," he asked, "What is this doing here?"

"Well," John said. "I rather like that picture. And when someone rather likes a picture, they hang it up on the wall."

"Why that picture?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head slightly to the side, as if to get a better look at it. "I look ridiculous."

"Yes, Sherlock, that's rather the point," John said. "Not many people see you like that, and there are maybe two photographs in existence of you looking silly, and one is in a photo album at your mum's estate, and the other is hanging in front of us. Plus, you look rather adorable." John looked at Sherlock and smiled as he said the last sentence.

"John," Sherlock said, cocking an eyebrow, "I was wearing a vest and short trousers, and had half of your chocolate ice cream smeared across my face- which, if I recall correctly, you did on purpose."

John huffed' indignantly. "Only because you insisted on licking from mine even though you had a perfectly good strawberry cone. When you cane to get another lick after I told you to stop, it seemed perfectly reasonable to shove it in your face, seeing as you wanted it so much. Besides, you shoved your cone in my face right after."

"It was in self-defense! I wasn't about to stand there and take the indignity of-"

"Yes, it was in self defense. Just like me taking the chocolate and running it across your face was in self-defense. And then you doing the same to me."

"John-"

"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson burst into the flat, covering her ears. "What's all this fuss about?" She moved toward them, wincing slightly with every step she took. "Sherlock, I told you to be quiet this morning because I have a headache! And John, you should know better than to rile him up. You know how he is. Now, please settle down, you two." She shook her head as she walked out of the flat again, closing the door gently, holding a hand to her head still.

Sherlock and John looked at each other rather shame-facedly. "I guess were rather loud," John said. Sherlock didn't say anything, and merely took one more look at the photograph before sitting on the couch.

John sat down next to the man,and looked at him apologetically. "Look, Sherlock, of you really don't like the picture, I could just take it down."

Sherlock shook his head. "Why would I want to taken down?" He placed a kiss on the shorter man's forehead. He didn't say what he was thinking-_ John, I know you like it, and there aren't very many pictures of us so I'll let you have this one thing-_ but John seemed to understand anyways. He sighed and nuzzled his head into Sherlock's chest, pushing them into the couch. "Love you, 'Lock," he said.

Sherlock smiled and rubbed John's back. "Love you too, John," he said, kissing the top of his head.

They laid there peacefully for a while before Sherlock spoke up.

"I would've won."

"Won what?"

"Our ice cream battle. I would've won."

"Dream on."

"Do you want a rematch?"

"Sherlock, it's the middle of December and Mrs. Hudson just told us to be quiet. I don't think how's the best time."

"We can be quiet." Sherlock shifted a little, as if trying to let John know what he was hinting at.

"Are we still talking about ice cream battles?" John was amused by Sherlock's little innuendo.

"You tell me. See if I've taught you anything in the science of deduction."

And after many careful, long, detailed study sessions, they determined that no, they weren't just referring to the ice cream anymore.

* * *

_**A/N: This challenge sucked ass. I had to rewrite this maybe three times, and at one point was over halfway through when I relized what I was doing was really stupid and deleted most of what I had written. I thought the cosplay challenge was hard, but damn, this really takes the cake. Which is why it is so short. And ridiculous. And just all around- GAH, I don't want to talk about it anymore. The people who were talking to me while I was writing this know how much I bitched about this, and how many times I threaten to shoot something (including myself), how many times I nearly gave this up, and just how much this challenge in general sucked. So thank you for being there for me while I lamented my misfortune. And put it this way: this was so bad, I am actually looking forward to tomorrow's genderbend challenge. **_

_**Oh, yes, and innuendo at the end. Much innuendo. What can I say- I'm a hormonal teenager. As my eternally wise English teacher likes to say, we are giant hormones with feet, and the only reliable way to get our attention is to mention food or sex. Wise woman, she is. Truly.**_

_**Oh, and the list of characters people ship me with has been added to! And is still being added to. Now I have Percy Jackson, male!Hermione (or female), Ford Prefect, Fitzroy from Leviathan, Shelton from Virals, and Carter Kane. I don't know. I really don't. But I love my friends. :)**_

_**Oh, and the only reason I managed to write this at all was because I drank two cups of tea (it was a two cup problem), walked up and down my street multiple times at ten at night, and rediscovered why I made my Crystal Castles Pandora station- because that thing is friggin' AWESOME! I'm actually listening to it right now. **_

_**And it's finally the weekend! Yay! So now I can finish making up all the work I didn't do during the week during my illness and that I sacrificed for other work so I could get sleep. Oh, and get stuff for the secret santa with my friends at school. Because I have my priorities where they should be.**_

_**Oh, and I managed to convince two people today to watch Sherlock! I feel accomplished!**_

_**That was actually pretty much everything interesting that happened. Pretty boring day, by my standards. Oh well.**_

_**Even though today's story sucked, please review. Please. They mean as much to me as strawberry jam does to John. So, an insane, ridiculous amount. Perhaps tomorrow I can regale you with one of the tales of my friend's and I's exploits. So please, please, please review. Please. *pleading intensifies***_

_**Goodnight or goodmorning,**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***steals snuggie from mother* *runs around house in snuggie, dancing to MGMT and screaming "I AM BATMAN!"* *stubs toe***_

_**P.S. As of this writing, I have almost 2,750 views on this fic. You are all amazing and beautiful and I'm going to go cry tears of joy now.**_


	14. Challenge 14: LE GENDERBEND

**_A/N: Heyyyyy you guys. So you know how I said in the very beginning of this story that while I would write a story every day, I may not be able to upload it every day, due to various reasons? Well, a various reason occurred last night, in the form of a trip to my grandmother's house. With my friends. And yes, because I know you're all thinking it, they are all just as insane and weird as I am. So anyways, we went here, had an adventure, discovered how to make gifs, had far too much fun making gifs, and generally had one hell of a time. I was so busy I didn't finish this story until three in the morning, and by that point I was like a zombie, I was so tired. So I literally just woke up, and am posting this now. I am so sorry for this, and beg your forgiveness. Now, without further ado, TO THE GENDERBEND CHALLENGE!_**

* * *

_Dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy, as always. Hats are amazing objects. Hattssssssssss._

* * *

**DAY 14 CHALLENGE: LE GENDERBEND**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

The criminal had been smoking a cigarette when Lestrade and his men, and Mycroft and his cronies arrived. He smiled, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it with the heel of his boot. A few dying embers blew away in the breeze, their glowing red light adding a mysterious quality to the scene.

"Damn," he said. "I was hoping you wouldn't show up for another few hours."

It took everything Lestrade had not to shoot the man right then and there. "Where are they?" he growled. "What have you done with them?"

The man leaned against the wall, exhaling one last puff of smoke. "They're inside. Unharmed, mostly. Fortunately for them, you caught me on a smoke break before I could back in and let the real fun began."

He paused for a second, leaning his head back against the wall, before looking back at them. "Oh," he said, as a thought struck him. "They've been drugged with something pretty heavy. Might be out for a few days. If I remember correctly, the report said the hallucinations lasted for up to three days, and they were trapped in their own little world for that period of time." He frowned, bringing one side of his mouth down in an unattractive grimace. "Oh, and you may want to look out for gangrene and necrosis. It's a side effect, apparently. Probably wouldn't be a good thing if Hatman or Robin lost fingers or limbs."

Mycroft remained as stoic and robotic as he always was, but the whiteness of his knuckles around the grip of his umbrella betrayed his worry and concern. "We'll keep that in mind," he deadpanned. "Now, if you could be so kind as to give yourself up so we could get along with our rather clever rescue mission, that would be wonderful."

The man shrugged. "Don't see the point in resisting anyway. May as well show you. Either way, I'm dead."

Lestrade wasn't normally scared by criminals, but this man's nonchalant attitude was really beginning to worry him. He hoped that Sherlock and John were okay.

The man led them inside the building, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world the entire time. "That there's the electrical room," he said. "That was where I was going to take them to next, actually. Shame you got here when you did." He shrugged, and Lestrade felt ice shoot down his spine.

A few rooms later, and he gestured at a closed door. "You'll find them in there," he said, waving at the door, before pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. Looking at Mycroft and Lestrade's incredulous expressions, he raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said. "I'm not going to be alive much longer, due to this man here," he said, waving a hand at Mycroft. "Consider this a last request." Seeing how the men still hesitated at the door, he rolled his eyes and sighed. "You are allowed in, you know," he said.

One of Mycroft's men hesitantly opened the door. There was a breath of nervous anticipation as the door was pushed in, revealing an unconscious Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes strapped to gurneys, with a few scrapes and bruises but otherwise unharmed.

"Told you," the man said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

* * *

Lestrade and Mycroft looked in on the hospital room where Sherlock and John lay. They had been 'checked out, and he and Mycroft had been assured that there were no other injuries- they just needed to stay under observation while they were still under the influence of the drug.

"It's nothing we've ever seen before," a doctor had said, scratching his head. "The closest thing is resembles is bromo-dragonfly, which is relative of the phenethylamine family. In laymen's terms, it's like a less potent, much more terrifying version of LSD that can last for days." The doctor had cleared his throat then, shifted his shoulders, before continuing. "Bromo-dragonfly causes terrifying hallucinations, however, and the hallucinations Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes are experiencing don't appear to be worrying. If anything, they seem to be enjoying their dreams." The doctor shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not sure what one would accomplish by drugging someone with this."

He looked uncomfortable. "Also, it seems as if they are... Sharing their hallucinations. We're not sure how. Further tests are required. But other than that, they should be fine eventually."

"Thank you, doctor. That will be all." Mycroft had shooed the man out of the room then and returned to staring in at the two laying in the beds.

"Mycroft?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I think that while we've been through plenty together, I am still your superior and you should still address me as Mr. Holmes."

"At work, fine. But I'm off-duty, and I'll call you Mycroft if I want. What I wanted to ask is do you think they'll he okay?"

"You've just been assured by a medical professional that as long as there are no further complications, they will walk away from this unharmed. I daresay he has more experience in this area than I."

"No, I mean, will they be okay? They have just been kidnapped and drugged, almost tortured. Most people would-"

"Detective Inspector, you do know who the men in the other room are, correct? They have been through far worse and escaped unscathed."

"Right. Of course." Lestrade sat back in the uncomfortable chair he'd been sitting in before speaking again.

"What do you think they're dreaming about?"

"Inspector, to be completely honest, I have no idea."

* * *

Their dreams (or hallucinations) weren't very complex at first. Splashes of vivid red. A swath of yellow cutting across their vision. Blue blooming out of the darkness.

But then they grew more complex. A flower blossomed into existence. The briefest vision of a bright yellow smiley face, spray painted and shot onto ivy wallpaper, danced in their eyes. A crime scene. Visions from childhood ran like an old film reel.

Eventually a whole world bloomed into existence.

It was remarkable similar to the world John and Sherlock knew to be theirs, bit with one minor (major) difference- in their shared dream, they were both female.

Sherlock was the first to become fully aware that he was dreaming, in a sudden revelation that caused him to jump up from the chair he had been sitting in previously.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, a look of startled realization on his face. Then he saw John. And looked down at himself.

"Well," he said, "this is interesting."

He then walked over to John, who hadn't yet realized they were dreaming, and was contently reading a newspaper, partially blurry due to lack of awareness. "John." Sherlock shook John's shoulders, and he kept reading his newspaper, completely oblivious to what Sherlock was doing, but becoming a bit clearer at the edges.

"John."

"John!"

"JOHN!" With this last shout, Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John out of nowhere.

John suddenly burst into clarity, coming to with a gasp. "Sherlock, what the hell- why- Jesus Christ, is that really-"

"Yes, John, I appear to have breasts. You do as well. I'm sure you remember being captured and drugged, correct?"

John nodded his (her?) head and tried not to feel the hair that was longer than it should have been nod up and down with him. "Yes, I remember that very clearly Sherlock. What I don't remember is being female. And holy- is that my voice?"

Sherlock sat down on the leather chair. "My guess is that we're hallucinating. How we're having a shared hallucination, I'm not sure. Fascinating. And yes, I do believe that is your voice." He (she?) frowned. "I do admit, mine is rather alarming as well."

"Sherlock," John said, "I don't think there is a drug that makes you hallucinate so badly you see yourself as a different gender."

"Well, apparently there is."

John took a second to look at his flatmate. While he knew he was male mentally, physically he was... Well, female. Typical female anatomy, long dark curls, slightly softened features, higher voice (soprano?) but it was still Sherlock.

John got up and slowly walked to the closest mirror and examined himself. His jaw was a little less squarish, his hair longer, and he definitely looked like a woman.

If John hadn't known he was hallucinating this, he would've had a full blown panic attack. Instead, he took a shaky breath and sat on the couch. "What do we do now?" he said.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked at him. "Well," he said, "since we appear to be hallucinating I don't think there's much we can do until the drugs wear off."

"And how long will that take?"

"In our time? Several hours. In here, though, our view of time is distorted, so it could be a few hours or a few months."

"Wonderful," John said, throwing his head back into the chair. "So that means you and I could be stuck like this for a few months then?"

"Don't make me repeat myself. You do know how I hate it."

"So we just... Stay here then? Doing what? Solving cases? This is hallucinated, so how far does this world extend?"

"I would imagine as far as we want it to. And what else would we do?"

John buried his head in his hands. He wasn't looking forward to the next however-long-they-were-stuck-in-here period of time.

* * *

Time passed relatively quickly.

By the second week, John had discovered that their minds could also make objects appear, and decided to take up an old hobby he hadn't done since secondary school.

"John, I'm not interested-"

"Sherlock, shut up and sit down. I listen to you play the violin constantly whether or not I want to hear you play it. The very least you could do is listen to me play the clarinet."

Sherlock huffed and flopped on the couch, throwing his arm over his head dramatically. "Fine," he said.

John wanted to argue, he really did. But he wasn't in the mood, so he stood and played his clarinet.

It was a bit difficult at first- it had been more than a few years since he had last played it, after all- but he was pleased to find muscle memory and a few pointed comments from Sherlock he could remember almost everything.

He started with a few shorter, sillier songs he'd learned when he first began to play the instrument. He eventually began to play the more complicated songs, until he'd reached the limit of his knowledge and ability.

He looked over at Sherlock, expecting a harsh critique. Instead he found the consulting detective sleeping- long hair strewn across the couch, dressing robe left carelessly open, revealing a grey cotton shirt that was far too loose on his skinny frame.

John was still confused about pronouns. He just used the male ones, because they still were male, mentally.

He smiled and brushed a few curls out of the detective's face. Going to get a blanket, he wrapped it around the man and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he whispered, before heading to bed.

* * *

They slowly began to recognize signs that they were returning to consciousness.

They would see flashes of white, hear the beeping of heart monitors, feel an uncomfortable sheet wrapped around them.

They knew what this meant, and continued as they had before- solving cases, Sherlock playing the violin, John playing the clarinet, and just generally acting as they normally did, trying to ignore the fact that they were both stuck in the wrong bodies.

Three weeks after they had entered this world, three days in the world they had left behind, they woke up.

* * *

When all was said and done, Sherlock and John went back to 221B Baker Street after one more night at the hospital. They were both relieved to be awake and in their own bodies.

Mycroft questioned them as soon ad the doctors allowed him in. Apparently, even the British Government had to follow some hospital rules and regulations.

Sherlock and John told him what they remembered about the kidnapping, the drugging, and what had happened in the case they were working on before they were captured.

The subject of their hallucinations was not discussed. As far as Sherlock and John were concerned, that was their own personal business, and Mycroft really had no business in asking.

Life went on as normal.

With one exception.

John bought a clarinet about two weeks after the incident, and played it on a fairly regular basis. He even became rather good at it.

And Sherlock never complained.

* * *

**_YET ANOTHER A/N: Okay, I have really mixed feelings about this. On one hand, i'm happy I managed to write this without turning it into an awkward clusterfuck with really bad jokes, to which I owe my eternal gratitude to mervoparkite and ThespiansKC for- mervoparkite for suggesting them getting drugged, Thespians KC for suggesting the clarinet scene. So I thank you, and I owe you a debt that can never be repaid._**

**_But on the other, I wanted to go so much more into detail with this, but I couldn't because I just didn't have enough time. I wanted to go into detail about why the criminal would drug them like that. I wanted to go into detail about their shared hallucination- how the hell they managed to share it, for one, and more details about what they did when thye were in it for another. I wanted a better ending. But unfortunately, there just aren't enough hours in a day, and the sad truth is by the time I was finished with this I was so tired I couldn't even think coherently. So what I've decided to do is, at some point in the near future (once this challenge is over), if I get enough positive response for this chapter, I might turn this into a full-blown story, and add a lot more depth and detail. Hell, I might turn this into a multi-chapter. It has the potential to be one. So if you want this to be expanded upon, PLEASE let me know in a review. I'd love to add more depth to this, but if no one wants to read it, well, what would be the point, right?_**

**_PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. You guys have no idea how much they mean to me. Thy are literally the reason I get out of bed in the morning. I'm not joking- I'll wake up, and the first thing I'll do is put on my glasses, and then check my email on my phone to see if anyone new started following me or favorited this or left a review. And I grin like a madwoman every time I see one. If I woke up in the morning and there weren't any reviews, I think I'd cry all day. So please, review! I'll love you forever. *makes adorable puppy eyes*_**

**_The next challenge should be up later today. The challenge is wearing a different clothing style. Yay. *insert sarcasm here* Let's see how the hell I can get this one to work. (Have I mentioned that I make up most of this as I go along?) I may also regale you with the story of what my friends and I got up to last night. I assure you, the tale is quite entertaining._**

**_Good morning, my dear readers, and I hope you enjoyed this. Please don't kill me. *ducks from flying chair*_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_*dances to the AmpLives remix of 1940 by The Submarines* *friend joins in* *dances aggressively*_**

**_Me: I swear to god, in some AU, people are shipping us right now._**

**_*fall to the floor laughing* *bangs head on bedpost*_**


	15. Challenge 15: Different Clothing Style

**_A/N: Well, folks, I promised two in a row to make up for me missing a day, so here you go. I am now officially back on track. More author's notes to follow at the end of the next chapter. Enjoy!_**

* * *

_Dedicated, yesterday and today, to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. It's hard to believe that guy's only a senior, right?_

_The apostrophe is now (and will be in the next story as well) in play._

* * *

**DAY 15 CHALLENGE: IN A DIFFERENT CLOTHING STYLE**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

In their defense, they were bored, and the case was nine. How could they refuse? Besides, when they had first taken the case, it hadn't been clear that such drastic measures were necessary.

But despite their protests, the fine people of the NSY didn't stop talking about this for years.

* * *

Sherlock and John occasionally went undercover for cases.

This was a well-known fact for many. From the infamous cosplay incident, to the less known crab fisherman case (don't ask), to the case where they had to go to a famous nightclub (please, for the love of god, DON'T ASK), they were no strangers to putting on personas and dressing in frankly absurd ways. While it was always embarrassing at first, they always eventually grew comfortable and solved the case with relatively little difficulty.

This, however, was ridiculous.

John should've told Sherlock no the very second he mentioned they had taken a case involving a male model agency.

"No," John spluttered, trying and failing to wipe the remains of his drink off of his jumper. "Absolutely not. No, Sherlock, no. What the hell made you think this was even a good idea?"

"I told you we were taking a case-"

"You didn't mention we would be going undercover as bloody male models!"

"John, it's not that bad. I'm going to be the model, you the photographer-"

"Yes, it is that bad! I'm sorry if I'm not exactly comfortable with people staring at my boyfriend, who'll be dressed up in who the hell knows what-"

"John, three people have been murdered. We have a chance to prevent the next murder from taking place. This is necessary. Unless you want another murder to occur? Besides, you won't even be the one doing the modeling."

"Just... Give me a minute, Sherlock," John said, covering his eyes with his palms. God, and he'd thought the steampunk dance had been bad. (Again, don't ask.)

"At least... It will be a private photography session, right?" John asked, wincing. God, he did not want to do this.

"Yes, John. As far as I am aware, it will only be you and one other photographer taking photos of me. And it's for a clothing line, so I will most likely be wearing clothes."

John buried his head in his hands. "Oh god," he moaned.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "John-"

"No, Sherlock, whatever you're about to say, don't. Just don't. Shite."

John took a calming breath and slowly pulled his head back from his hands. "And when exactly is this happening?"

"This Saturday. Five days away."

"Okay," John said, taking another deep breath. He knew he was overreacting a bit, so he tried to calm himself down.

Suddenly he realized what was going to happen, fully, and he burst out laughing.

Sherlock, alarmed by John's sudden change in behavior, looked at John with concern. "John?" he asked with trepidation.

"It's just- oh my god, Sherlock, you're going to be a fucking male model!"

Sherlock scowled as John continued to howl with laughter.

* * *

Even years later, John wasn't entirely sure how he and Sherlock had managed to get inside the agency where the shoot would take place.

All he knew was an ID was shown, eyebrows were raised, and they were let in without further questions.

John, to be honest, knew very little about photography. When he was led to the studio where the shoot would take place, he made things up as he went along, and tried to copy the movements of the other photographer.

Soon enough, the cameras were set up (or at least John thought they were), the lights were ready, and all they needed was the model himself.

When Sherlock walked out, John's jaw just about hit the floor.

The man was obviously uncomfortable. John doubted he'd ever worn anything other than his typical dress shirts and trousers, except for cases. Like he was now.

And oh god, was he not wearing his typical outfit.

He had on a pair of tight (oh so very tight) jeans that clung to him like melted chocolate to a wrapper, a blue tee shirt so tight it almost put his infamous purple shirt to shame, his hair slicked back, and a scowl on his face so deep it took everything the doctor had to not burst out laughing.

He wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. The other photographer threw him a questioning look as' the man in charge of the shoot started pushing and pulling Sherlock every which way, treating him like an over-sized rag doll. John, realizing he was supposed to be taking pictures, snapped a few when he realized the other photographer was again staring at him funnily.

When they tried to get Sherlock to pose in the typical "paint me like one of your French girls" pose, John had to actually leave the room so he could go laugh and not blow their cover.

Sherlock was growing increasingly incensed and irritated by the minute. He'd decided to do this so that he could see the other models and determine which was the killer, and so far the only one had seen was himself.

Eventually, it finished, and Sherlock was released. John waited outside (apparently the photographers weren't allowed inside the dressing room) while Sherlock got a look at the other models.

He'd pegged the murderer in three minutes and let John know, who placed a discreet call to the NSY.

Which left Sherlock still dressed like that by the time Lestrade and his team arrived, much to Lestrade and Co.'s amusement, and Sherlock's fury.

* * *

Sherlock kept quiet about the incident. Every time someone asked him about it, he just ignored them, and eventually the whispers and giggles died down.

Until the magazines were released.

See, no one had bothered to inform Sherlock and John that the studio still had the pictures- and when the company asked for the pictures they had paid off, well, what was a modeling agency supposed to do?

That didn't change the fact there was a full-blown, two page spread of Sherlock in those deliciously tight clothes right in the middle of several famous, national magazines.

Even though Sherlock bought (and burned) every copy he could find, it didn't stop the pictures from spreading like wildfire, even resulting in a mocking call from Mycroft. ("So, brother dear, I would ask you how you were, but I can tell from this rather revealing picture right here that you're perfectly healthy.")

"John," Sherlock said, looking up after ending a three day sulk-fest that had almost impressed the doctor with its length and severity.

"Yes, Sherlock?" the doctor responded, amused.

"I am never going undercover for a case again."

"Of course you aren't, Sherlock."

They both knew that wasn't true.


	16. Challenge 16: During Morning Rituals

**DAY 16 CHALLENGE: DURING THEIR MORNING RITUALS**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

The fact that Sherlock and John were together (romantically) was no secret. In fact, when John first made the post on his blog officially confirming the rumours, within three hours the news had spread worldwide. They had managed to cause a huge surge in tweets, almost crashed tumblr, been featured on two national news stations (and some more international stations), and caused such a huge wave of readers to comment on John's blog it actually crashed.

Once the initial fervor had died down, the questions began. News networks, television personalities, and fans all over the world wanted to know every single detail of their life together as a couple- from the surprisingly innocent ("what's his favorite food?" "does he have a favorite color?") to the disturbingly detailed and intimate ("what's his favorite sex position?" "have either of you ever thought about participating in a threesome?"). It amused John to no end, and annoyed Sherlock.

One comment John received that he didn't feel was too intimate to answer was "Hey! I was wondering, what do you guys do in the morning? I'm sorry if this is intrusive.. I'm just curious..."

John found the email the girl had used to register to comment on his blog, and sent her an email, where he told her the truth. And it went something like this.

* * *

Living with the world's only Consulting Detective doesn't exactly make it the easiest thing in the world to keep and maintain a constant, steady morning routine. There are the case days, but also the bored days, the "John I almost blew up the flat while you were sleeping" days, and of course, the "let's stay in bed a little longer and see what happens" days.

But even with as usual and strange as their lives were, there were still days when things went... Well, normally. They'd wake up at around the same time, and both be unable to sleep again (even with the miracle sleep cuddles, as John sometimes called them), and wake up and move along with their business.

While Sherlock went and made himself a cup of coffee or tea (depending on the day), and sat on the couch and stared blackly off into space, John would go shower. He'd shower, and then go back down, and them make himself some tea or coffee, and join Sherlock on the couch. John would then put on some telly (whatever what was on in the morning), finish his coffee, and curl up against his detective. Usually the detective was still too tired to participate much in the cuddling session, but he never objected when John carded his hands through the detective's hair, and the doctor smiled whenever Sherlock would lay his shaggy head on the doctor's lap.

They'd stay like this for a while, until a case came in, or Sherlock recalled a very important experiment he needed to work on, or John was called into to clinic. It was nice while it lasted, though.

Then there were the case days.

Usually, Sherlock would receive a call at a ridiculously early hour in the morning (even by John's standards), and if he had slept that night, he would gently shake his live awake, and of he had pulled an all-nighter (as the man was oft to do sometimes), he would burst in the room, shouting, "Wake up, John! A case!"

One morning, John had been having a very nice dream involving Sherlock (from which the details will not be discussed), when Sherlock burst into the room and nearly caused John to jump out of the bed, he was so startled.

"What the bloody HELL, Sherlock!" John yelled, as soon as he regained use of his voice. His love was staring at him with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Case, John. Get up."

"Sherlock, it's three' in the bloody morning! Why is there a case?"

"John, after all the time we have spent together, you should know a case tends to appear whenever they find a body. Now, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say a body was found. Now, get dressed." He turned around and opened their shared wardrobe and started throwing clothes at John.

"Sherlock, what the- no! No, Sherlock! It's three in the bloody morning, I'm still tired after that last case we went on, and the last think want to do right now is look at a fucking corpse!"

Sherlock turned around, confused. He didn't have to speak aloud for John to know he was currently reevaluating him.

John sighed. "Sherlock, I do like going on cases with you. But I'm tired, and I need sleep. Go if you want, or you can stay here and sleep with me, but let me stay."

Sherlock rook one look at the man and stopped. He wanted to go to the scene still, but he knew John didn't want to go and it would be more than a bit not good of he left him there. Shrugging off his coat, shirt, and trousers, he walked into bed with John in only his pants. John smiled sleepily when he felt the same body snuggle in next to him. "Thanks, 'Lock," he whispered, burying his face into his lover's dark curls.

Sherlock smiled a little in response. "Goodnight, John," he said. "Or, rather, good morning."

* * *

The lucky girl who received the email, which more or less told the same story above (with far less detail), treasured it for the rest of her days, and Sherlock and John continued with their regular irregular morning routines. Life was good.

* * *

_**A/N: And that's a wrap! I'm actually pretty impressed. I got all my homework done AND somehow managed to finish day 15 and do today's, all in one day.**_

_**The stories themselves, I'm a little more iffie on. Okay, so I woke up yesterday, and my friends were still over, so I asked my friend about yesterday's challenge (which I couldn't figure out how to write without making it something that's been done a million times before, or might coincide with a future challenge), and this is how our conversation went:**_

_**Me: How the hell am I supposed to do this?**_

_**Friend: Um, I don't know.**_

_***lightbulb goes on in friend's head* *gasps***_

_**Friend: What if they were male models?**_

_**Rational Part of Me: Well, that would certainly be interesting to write.**_

_**Hormonal Teenage Girl Part of Me: *thinks* OH. Oh, god, yes.**_

_**So that's how that happened. It's really very silly and not very good, but I hopefully at least got a few chuckles out of you. I cracked up a little as I wrote it, which is, quite frankly, pathetic. Oh, and the melted chocolate simile? I can't take credit for that. I literally spent two hours trying to find something that would work, before turning to a friend, who read the part of the sentence I had written and gave me this in less than a minute.**_

_**And today's challenge: Well, it isn't bad, but it's not very special. I had to try very hard not to make it repetitive (remember, I already did something similar?) And that's all I have to say about today's.**_

_**Wait. There is one more thing. For my readers who also listen to Welcome to Night Vale, and have listened to the new episode released today, I have been listening to the weather NONSTOP since I heard the song. For those not in the loop, the song's called Absentee by Jack Campbell and is abso-freaking-lutely AWESOME. So, I wrote today's challenge while listening to that song on repeat. **_

_**Also, to the guest reviewer by the name of WeeCheerfulAmy, who left this lovely message for me: "I love all of these! But I'd like to suggest you do one based on "John's sexy eyebrow" pleeeeeeeease! For me? :)" I like your idea, and therefore take it as a challenge! However, I've already got my challenges planned out, more or less, and am therefore left with two options: One, I can try to work it into an upcoming challenge, or two, I can write an entire one shot for you based solely off that prompt. The decision is entirely up to you, my dear, but if you could please send me a PM if you have an account, or leave me another guest review to let me know, that would be great. If I don't hear anything back from you, I'll still cheerfully do the prompt, but assume you meant for me to find a way to work it into one of the challenges. I'll give you three days to respond, from which point I will start trying to find a challenge to work it into. Again, thank you so much, and I'm honored you thought to leave me a prompt!**_

_**Speaking of which, guys, if you have an idea or a scene you would like to see me work into an upcoming challenge, feel free to let me know! Unless I already have something planned, I'll find a way to work my magic. ;) **_

_**And to the other guest reviewer, NQB... hehe. Gingerbread. I am still cracking up over that one. **_

_**Please, please, please, please review! You guys have no idea how much they mean to me! I literally started crying when I got the reviews for my genderbend chapter. I was so nervous and so afraid that you guys would hate it, and then I was told that I impress someone, deeply, that I made someone feel honored, and I made someone laugh. Those are the main three things I want in life. I actually did cry. Please, guys, make me cry tears of joy again. I need a new metaphor... hmm... How about reviews are to me what dinosaurs are to Anderson? Yeah, that works. So please, review. I'll love you forever.**_

_**Also, expect John's clarinet to make more appearences in future chapters, and due to the lovely reviews I received from mervoparkite, PennamePersona, and dance. til. i. drop (sorry, my dear, I had to space out you name, or else fanfiction blocks it) I will be doing a multi-chapter story sometime in the near future which is an expansion of my genderbend chapter. I can't thank you guys enough. I'll probably finish this first, but I look forward to writing it sometime in the near future!**_

_**And I am now officially more than halfway through the challenge. I want to simultaneously laugh with joy and cry tears of sadness. You are all amazing. I love you all.**_

_**Now, time to bring this ridiculously long author's note (even by my standards) to an end.**_

_**Goodnight, and good morning,**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_***dances in circles in snow dance, pleading with the snow and desert gods to let it snow* *falls and hurts self again* *doesn't snow***_


	17. Challenge 17: Spooning

_Dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD buddy. I am not putting another apostrophe in play until you find the others. ;P Good luck!_

* * *

**DAY 17 CHALLENGE: SPOONING**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Waking up in the arms of Sherlock Holmes was something John Watson would never get used to.

When he was younger, he'd always assumed he'd go to uni, get his medical degree, find a lovely woman, have several kids and retire to the country. He quickly learned that was unlikely to happen, though, so he decided to join the army. One bullet wound later, he was invalided home, and left with a psychosomatic limp, an intermittent tremor in his left hand, no job prospects, and no hope.

He fell into a deep and dark depression, from which he saw no escape.

Then he met Sherlock Holmes.

The mysterious, egotistical, infuriating, brilliant madman who John killed a man for within 48 hours of meeting. John was drawn in like a moth to a flame.

For a while, things were okay.

But then Sherlock had to go and jump off a bloody roof right in front of the doctor, breaking the man's heart and leaving him an empty shell. He ghosted through his life, never truly seeing it doing anything. He left 221B, returned to work, and started dating women again. But the women never lasted, he only went to his job to have something to do, and he never left the fog that had fallen on him since Sherlock had left.

Then Sherlock returned.

John was livid. Punches were thrown, curses yelled, and tears shed. But by the end of the week, he'd moved back into 221B, had almost forgiven Sherlock (full forgiveness didn't come for a long time yet), and in all honesty, he was happy his best friend was back. He'd gotten his miracle.

Then his feelings for the man grew, and one explosion and near shooting at a crime scene later, the two were together and John realized this was the happiest he'd been his whole life. Sherlock was far from perfect, but he was what John needed. And every single one of his flaws and quirks were just another thing that made the man unique, and John loved him, every bit of him.

And waking up next to the man he loved was perfect and amazing in its own right, but to feel Sherlock's arms wrapped around his chest, to feel his hair ruffle as Sherlock breathed on him, the simultaneously warm and cool marble skin, provided him with a sense of security and love he'd never felt before in his entire life.

No, John Watson would never grow used to waking up beside Sherlock Holmes, and he hoped he never would.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes never got used to waking up beside John Watson.

As a child, and then a teen, and then an adult, he'd never shown any inclination to enter a relationship with anyone, romantic or otherwise, and he and his family were okay with this. He would always remain alone, and that never troubled him.

And then he met Captain John Watson, MD, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.

A perfectly ordinary man, in every right- while he had done extraordinary things, he was normal in most regards. But there was something... different about him. This became apparent when he complimented Sherlock on his genius, instead of running for the hills or insulting him. And then he stayed, where everyone else had left. He shot a man to save his life, put up with his eccentricities, and stood by him.

Sherlock should have been concerned when he started to grow fond of the man with a predilection for jumpers, tea and strawberry jam, but he wasn't. And he payed for it. Dearly.

Those three years were the hardest of his life. Not only physically and mentally, but emotionally as well. He tried to block out the doctor, forget him for the duration of his journey, but he couldn't. He would pop up in the back of Sherlock's brain, provide him with a moral compass, give Sherlock a reason to keep from relapsing. And Sherlock missed the man dearly.

He expected the punch, the tears, the hug, when he returned. He didn't expect to fall in love for the first and last time in his life. Even though Sherlock hated the explosion and shooting for nearly taking John from him, he also secretly counted his lucky stars that they and occurred. Because if the two events hadn't, it may have taken years for the two to confess their feelings to another.

Waking up next to someone was something the detective never thought he would do. He found he sincerely liked the feeling. To feel the doctor's shorted, warmer, darker arms wrapped around his torso provided him with a sense of warmth and security and love that resonated im his stomach that he didn't know he'd been missing his entire life. And when the doctor moved or breathed, and he felt his breath rustle his dark curls, Sherlock would stop, close his eyes, and carefully store the memory in his mind palace so he could never forget it.

No, Sherlock Holmes never would and never could get tired of waking up with John Watson.

* * *

Their one-month anniversary was nothing special.

Sherlock let Lestrade know of his plans, and made sure to turn his phone off, for good measure. John had taken the day off from the clinic. All was set in place for Sherlock and John.

Their planned day was a day in bed.

While Sherlock would much rather be out solving crimes, or performing experiments, he knew how much such days meant to John, and therefore didn't object when the doctor suggested a day in bed as their planned activity. Besides, they were better than some other activities John could have suggested, and if Sherlock was completely honest he didn't mind them too much himself. The part of his brain that demanded constant action and stimulation quieted down when the arms of a certain former army doctor wrapped around his body.

When Sherlock woke up that morning, it was to the delicate stroking of his hair by a certain army doctor. He smiled sleepily and pushed his head into the hand. Smiling, John continued to stroke, before turning the detective over gently and placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Morning, 'Lock," he said, smiling.

Sherlock smiled at him back, eyes still droopy from sleep. "Morning, John," he slurred happily, while lazily reaching over hand to place on the doctor's shoulder. John smiled at the contact. "Someone's in a good mood today."

"And why wouldn't I be?" came the slightly clearer, but still sleepy reply.

"I figured you'd rather be out solving cases by now," John confessed.

Sherlock frowned at him. "John, you know as well as I do that if that's what I wanted to do, I would have done it. Obviously your request took precedent."

John smiled at his love's kind (for Sherlock, anyways) words, and placed another soft and slow kiss to the detective's soft pink lips. He gently laughed, placing his head into his chest. "I love you, you great big git, you," he mumbled fondly into the expanse of the man's chest.

"I love you too, John," Sherlock mumbled. Disengaging himself from the detective, John pulled away, only to roll the detective onto his side and press his body against his. He pushed his arms through the gaps on Sherlock's side, wrapping his arms around the man's chest. He wrapped his legs around the longer, thinner ones and pressed his lips against the back of the man's delicately pale neck. "Go back to sleep, love," he whispered.

Sherlock wasn't in a place to resist, what with being wrapped in the arms of the person he loved most in the world, and soon feel back into a deep sleep. John shortly followed.

The rest of the day was spent cuddling and kissing, and the only time they left the bed was when one had to use the loo or they had to get something to eat or drink.

All in all, it was a great anniversary. John remembered it as the best one month he'd ever had, and Sherlock, when he dragged the file out of the "John" wing of his mind palace, understood why other couples enjoyed anniversaries so much.

When others found out about their activities though, and labeled it cute, they both claimed to resent that label. Even though they both knew it was true to a certain degree.

* * *

**_A/N: Look at all that fluff. Look at it. *sing songs* never, have I ever, written such a fluffy thing before..._**

**_I'm not even joking. I never even thought I was physically capable of writing of writing fluff. I am, by all means, an angst addict. Give me a perfectly happy song and tell me to write a story about it, and I will most likely give you a story where everyone dies or much angst is had. I actually do google searches for the angstiest fics I can find when I want to read angsty fics. Which is how I managed to convince google I have cancer, am on drugs, have an incurable disease, and am dying of a gunshot wound in a back alley somewhere. This fic is proving every notion I ever had about me and my writing before wrong, though._**

**_And in more ways than one. Not only is it (apparently) possible for me to write fluff, but I apparently write fluff that people actually enjoy. I stayed home sick today ('tis the season) and when I received the reviews for today, well... Let's just say sobbing breakdowns were held. I always kind of thought that people just read my writing because they felt bad for me. Apparently they read it because I have "talent". Which are two words I never thought would go in the same sentence together, unless it was "Mars has a talent for falling clumsily and hurting herself." The very idea that this fic is being recommended to others, and I was someone's first fanfiction... You guys are literally blowing my mind. My mind would not be more blown if I went on a rooftop and pulled a Moriarty. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart!_**

**_To WeeCheerfulAmy: I have received your reply and am now formulating plans for your prompt. *cackles evilly* Because this story is taking up so much of my time, I am putting everything else on hold for the duration of the challenge, but expect a one-shot sometime in January! _**

**_And to Hungrysherlock-wink: I am still in tears over your review. For you, my dear, I'd sweep the fucking floor. Of course I'll do your prompt! I am already formulating plans. Expect it sometime in January. :)_**

**_And due to Raine-Lily-Vandal's review, asking about the cases I mentioned in some earlier stories (even though Sherlock and John said not to- you naughty, naughty girl XP) I have decided to start a series of one-shots that will be purely cases of Sherlock's an John's that were never posted to his blog. It will most likely be 90% crack, but let's face it- we all need some crack in our life sometimes, right? _**

**_Now is the part where I beg for help. Tomorrow's challenge is literally the least specific challenge of them all- "doing something together". And because it is the least specific, I have no freaking clue what I'm going to do. If you could give me anything at all, I will be eternally grateful. _**

**_And now for the news!_**

**_We will soon have a special guest joining us. And by "special guest", I mean my mother. She found out I have an account here and post stuff frequently here a few weeks ago, after shocking me with the fact she knew what fanfiction was at all. I mostly ignored that, for the sake of my own sanity, but I was so excited about the reviews I received today that I showed her... which required explanation. I quickly realized I had made her want to read this. I tried to deter her ("Mom! You haven't even seen the show yet!" "Maybe I'll watch it this Christmas break!") ("Mom, you wouldn't like it!" "Why not?" "Because it's gay romance!" "May I ask why you are writing gay romance? And I don't judge.") So now my mother has the link to this story, and will e reading it as soon as possible. Speaking of which... Mom, if you're reading this right now... *coughs awkwardly* first of all, I am a hormonal teenage girl and if that doesn't clear up why I have worded some things the way I have, then you are reading far too much into this. Secondly, uh... Hi, mom!_**

**_Well, now that that's over with..._**

**_As of this writing, there have been just over four thousand views on this story, 31 followers, 13 favorites, 86 reviews (!), and visitors from the following countries: The US, the UK, Australia, Germany, Canada, Mexico, New Zealand, Austria, the Republic of Korea, Finland, Sweden, France, Denmark, Czech Revar, India, Israel, Slovakia, India, Spain, Netherlands, Romania, Malaysia, Serbia and Montenegro, Thailand, Iceland, China, Poland, Bulgaria, Lithuania, Belarus, Singapore, the United Arab Emiretes, Indonesia, Guernsey, Brazil, Pakistan, Portugal, and South Africa. If I have missed any, please forgive me- I am just going off of what my Traffic Stats say. Hello to you all! Let me tell you, it is absolutely astounding to me that a fifteen year old who lives in a desert in Southern California has such a wide readership. I'm not even old enough to drive yet, you guys. This is incredible. Thank you. _**

**_Please leave me a review. They are to me what dinosaurs are to Anderson. You saw the results you got when you left me some reviews earlier- please make me go cry more tears of joy! Thanks, and I love you all._**

**_Goodnight, or good morning, _**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_*lays in bed all day* *gets bed sores*_**

**_P.S. Mom, I left your pink snuggie on the couch. You may want to wash it before wearing it again, seeing as I was wearing it all day and I was sick. _**


	18. Challenge 18: Doing Something Together

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Because we're just awesome like that. XD_

* * *

**DAY 18 CHALLENGE: Doing something together **

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

It was raining.

Well, of course it was. Sherlock and John lived in London. It rained rather a lot there.

This time, however, there was lightning. This also wasn't that uncommon an occurrence, but there was a reason the newscasters had named this storm the "storm of the century".

While John and Sherlock could normally go outside and go about their business, even in the harshest of weather, the entire city was barricading themselves indoors that day. This made it rather difficult to go out and solve crimes, when there were no crimes to solve.

So the doctor was cooped up in the flat with a very bored detective.

At first, he played the violin. Then John pulled out his clarinet and joined Sherlock in playing. The sweet sounds of their combined melodies filled the flat, and for a while things were okay.

But then Sherlock got bored.

After setting his violin down, he flung himself onto the couch. "Bored," he said, flinging his arm over his face dramatically. John, recognizing he needed to do something fast, widened his eyes and quickly set down his clarinet. He didn't think Mrs. Hudson's threat to evict them if Sherlock shot any more holes in the wall was completely serious, but he didn't want to take any chances.

He shot Sherlock a look. "Manage to keep yourself entertained while I think of something," he said to the sulking detective. He began to wander around the flat, trying to find something that could keep the detective busy. He knew of several activities of a more personal nature that could work, but Sherlock was having one of his "off" days where if the touching escalated beyond casual kisses he would simply shut down. John had found out about these days early on in their relationship, and didn't mind at all. He lived him, always, no matter what mood he was in.

So he continued searching the flat, trying to find something to do. Cluedo was out, as well ad the game they had invented themselves (they'd just played it yesterday). Sherlock's experiments were all currently tucked away (at John's request), and there was nothing laying around for the detective to mess with.

Desperate, John went into their bedroom, when he remembered the box he'd received from Mummy Holmes the last time he'd visited the Holmes estate. The visit had been pleasant- or as pleasant as it could be with Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mummy Holmes all in the same place. Nothing had been destroyed or set afire to in a fit of pique- a major success, considering the previous history concerning those visits.

The day before they were due to leave, Mummy Holmes had cornered John outside of a particularly long corridor.

"Now, Dr. Watson," she had said, looking down at him in a fashion that showed every inch of her power. He fought an urge to gulp nervously. "Yes, Mrs. Holmes?" he asked, trying not to cower. She suddenly smiled sweetly at him, and gestured at the corridor behind them. "Dr. Watson, I have some items from Sherlock's youth and teenage years back in his old room. I've collected some, and out them in a box, and decided to give them to you." She tilted her head at him, suddenly looking a little like a puppy. How the hell the woman managed to make herself go from about to rip someone's teeth out to looking like she needed help home, John would never know. All he knew was that it terrified him. And impressed him. "Maybe you could go through it with Sherlock sometime," she had said.

John couldn't hold back the gulp. "Of course, Mrs. Holmes," he said, not trusting his voice. She smiled and patted his arm. "I'll send it home with you," she said, before gliding down the corridor again, leaving a confused and nervous doctor behind.

John remembered this when he saw the sealed box laying on the floor, untouched since it had been sent over.

"Sherlock," he called out, "how would you feel about showing me some of this stuff?"

* * *

As it turned out, Sherlock did not want to show John the contents of the box. But seeing as the good doctor wasn't going to take no for an answer, soon John and a very grumpy detective were surfing on the couch, John with scissors in hand, ready to open the box, and Sherlock scowling.

"C'mon, Sherlock, it can't really be that bad," the doctor told the man, while opening the scissors to cut the tape on the box.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock huffed as John began to open the box. "I know my mother and what she would put in that box."

"Okay," John said simply as he opened the box's flaps, revealing its contents.

Which were not what he was expecting.

The very first sight that greeted him was an old toy pirate's sword. Sherlock hissed when he saw that, immediately reaching for it, and snatching it before John could get a closer look. John began to chuckle as he remembered a conversation with Mycroft, which seemed to have taken place a lifetime ago. Apparently Sherlock really had wanted to be a pirate as a child.

John began to go through the box, giggling (yes, John Watson giggled, quite frequently, thank you very much, and no, it did not make him any less manly) at some things he found, while staring confusedly at others. He thought the picture of Sherlock and Mycroft together as children was adorable, even if Sherlock hated it (John immediately made a resolution to put it on the wall somewhere), smiled when he saw Sherlock's old bumblebee plushie, and he was shocked when he found a sweatshirt, of all things, folded up neatly in the box.

Sherlock tried to snatch it away from John when he saw it, but John grabbed it before he could take it away. He took a closer look at it. It appeared to be from the university Sherlock had attended. John raised an eyebrow at the detective. "This yours?" he asked, raising the sweatshirt.

Sherlock growled. "Of course it is," he said, trying to reach for it.

John pulled it back. "Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, has a sweatshirt from his uni days, that, unless I'm really wrong, has been well-worn?"

Sherlock sighed in defeat. "Yes, John, I had a sweatshirt from my university. As did every uni student."

John laughed, and then leaned forward a placed a soft kiss on the detective's head, breathing the smell of chemicals, foreign spices, and mint. "It's fine, Sherlock," he said. "Just curious. I would've never pegged you for the sweatshirt wearing type."

Sherlock shuffled closer to the doctor, and the doctor wrapped an arm around the man. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the thunder and pouring rain. Smiling, he pulled back and placed another kiss on the detective's forehead. "Want to go through some more?" he asked, grinning mischievously and gesturing at the box. Sherlock groaned as John once again dived into the box and began pulling out various items.

"Sherlock, is this a-?"

"NO, John!"

And so the rest of their day was spent bickering over silly things, cuddling and casually kissing. Neither minded.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry this is up so late, and it's so short. Creativity did not come easily to me today._**

**_First off, another thank you to the lovely Hungrysherlock-wink for her help with today's prompt. You, my dear, are flippin' awesome. Thank you._**

**_To the guest reviewer from New Zealand- hello there! You have no idea how ridiculously happy it makes me that you chose to leave a review. And I'm sorry you're having such a hard time- but I'm happy I'm able to help, even if it is indirectly, through my writing. If you need to talk, I'm always available. I actually created a whole new email account just for this account a few days ago, just so I could communicate with you all without giving out my personal email, as I had been doing previously. If you want to contact me, my new email is rainydays. and. daydreams gmail .com . Just take out the spaces. And again, I'm happy I could help you. And Lord of the Rings- woo! *does a happy dance*_**

**_Actually, this applies to everyone. I'll add this to my bio on my page soon, but if you want to contact me and don't have an account, feel free to email me! But if I am currently in contact with you and you have my personal email, just keep using that, please. In order to avoid confusion. :)_**

**_Oh my lord, you guys. So many reviews. If each review were a dinosaur, Anderson would be able to open his own private museum. Thank you. You make me all so happy. I cry tears of joy every day._**

**_Also, MUMMY HOLMES HAS RETURNED! She was never supposed to be in this chapter, actually. She just kind of... appeared. No that I'm complaining. She's a helluva lot of fun to write, and I like how she scares the shit out of everyone. :3 Expect her in more challenges soon, dearies. As well as Harry. _**

**_More fluff. I am amazed. I think maybe it's because there's an angst storm approaching (spoiler alert!), and I am building up for it. *cackles evilly* But in the meantime... enjoy the fluff while it lasts! _**

**_Special shout out to my friend Heidi, who, as far as I'm aware, has not yet read this, but occasionally will check out what I've written for that day's challenge and tells me what she thinks. YOU HAVE PERMANENTLY TRAUMATIZED ME. THAT IS THE WEIRDEST, MOST... GAH. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, HEIDI. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. FUCK. _**

**_And as for the rest of you- you really, really don't want to know what brought that on. _**

**_I have a Spanish final tomorrow, I took my chemistry today (yes, Ms. mervoparkite, I did well on it!), and it is currently windy. I am playing Polish Girl by Neon Indian to help disguise the noise, but really, all it's doing is making the eery and beautiful howling stand out more. I should probably go to bed. _**

**_PLEASE REVIEW. Every time you review, Anderson gets a dinosaur that is added to his slightly creepy collection. Make me happy. Give Anderson a dinosaur. (Anderson says thank you all, by the way, for the lovely dinosaurs.)_**

**_Goodnight, or good morning, _**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_P.S. Hello, ObservationofTrifles, my old friend! I have received your prompt, think it is as brilliant as a polar bear, and have found a challenge to incorporate it into. Expect it soon! :)_**


	19. Challenge 19: In Formal Wear

_Dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. I did a h/c for you. Hope you like it! ^~_~^ (yes, I did just add a moustache to my traditional ^~^ face. You're welcome.)_

* * *

**DAY 19 CHALLENGE: In Formal Wear**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Being the brother of Mycroft Holmes was never easy.

It could be annoying at times (about 99% of the time, to be exact). What with the constant surveillance, the "questioning" of anyone he ever had more than brief contact with, the constant menacing shadow over Sherlock's shoulder that reminded everyone that Sherlock was the brother of Mycroft Holmes, and nobody fucked with him. Which, in retrospect, could be considered caring, but it irritated Sherlock more than gratified him. The fact he couldn't do anything without his brother knowing irked him to no end.

There were occasional benefits, though. Like the mysterious "disappearance" of the man who kidnapped and drugged John and Sherlock, or the truly unsolvable death of the man who grazed John with that bullet that one time. Also, he could provide cases when Sherlock needed them (although Sherlock didn't take them unless John forced him to- it was a matter of pride).

So Sherlock would every now and then, after his brother had been useful for once, almost feel fondness towards him. And then he'd go and pull some move that made Sherlock want to go shoot something in rage. Or hack into a government database. Or be as big a nuisance as he could. Because Mycroft, though he cared about his brother, could truly be an insufferable git.

Such as now.

"What?!" Sherlock hissed into the mobile phone. "No, Mycroft, I refuse to let you bully me into this- for God's sake, Harry is here!"

"Don't make me threaten to knight you again, Sherlock," came the bored drawl on the other end of the line. "I'm positive Ms. Watson will also be delighted to attend."

"Delighted," Sherlock scoffed. But before he could add more, a certain Harry Holmes poked her head out from behind a doorway, and frowned when she saw how deeply Sherlock was scowling.

"The answer is no, Mycroft," Sherlock quickly said before hanging up. Flinging the mobile into the table, he flopped onto the couch with a growl of frustration and rage.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the detective. "What's wrong, Holmes?" she asked. Not getting an answer, she sat in John's usual spot and stared at the detective. "I could just ask John, you know," she said, gesturing vaguely. "He'd know what was wrong."

Sherlock scoffed at this and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Where is your brother?" he asked. She shrugged. "You act like I'm some sort of psychic. Or a detective. Which is supposed to be your job." Sherlock ignored the jab, and curled further into the couch. "It doesn't concern you."

"Oh, really? I heard you mention something about me visiting here. I think that means something concerns me."

Sherlock scowled into the bottom of the couch. Damn Harry Watson and her sensitive hearing.

It was at that moment John chose to walk in, after returning from a trip to get groceries. He knew something was wrong by the way Sherlock was face down in the couch and looking as of he was trying to sink into it, and Harry was sitting in his chair, leaning forward.

"Oh, god," he moaned. "Harry, what'd you do now?"

Harry turned around to face him, affronted. "I didn't do anything! I go in here to find your boyfriend yelling into his mobile, saying something about he refuses and how I'm here. When I ask him what's wrong, he falls into the couch and tries to become one with the furniture."

John sighed, putting the milk in the fridge, before pushing Harry out of his chair (she gave a muffled yelp of surprise before taking Sherlock's usual chair) and looking at Sherlock. "Mycroft called again, didn't he?"

A muffled, "Yes," came from the couch.

John sighed. "What did he want this time?"

Sherlock turned around, giving up on his quest to physically become one with couch, and faced John. "Same thing as last time."

John frowned. "You mean the case with the diplomats? And the gala? I thought he'd let that one go."

Sherlock growled in frustration. "He had. Until another one started receiving death threats, which were acted upon. My brother can't find the man who did it."

John raised his eyebrows. "Is the man okay?" he asked, slightly shocked and worried.

Sherlock looked at John quizzically. "Who? Oh, you mean the diplomat. Of course he's fine. It'd be all over the news if he wasn't."

John tried to not to sigh over his love's lack of concern over the man. "What does he want us to do, then?" he asked.

Sherlock threw his arm over his face dramatically. "He wants us to attend a gala. Apparently, the would-be assassin is going to be there and my brother will be too busy mingling to catch him."

John frowned. "Why don't we just go, then? You haven't had a case for about a week, and just yesterday I caught you trying to shoot the wall again."

Sherlock sat up suddenly, and looked at John, as if trying to determine his motivations. "John," he said slowly, "Mycroft invited me." He added as an afterthought, "And Harry's here."

"Wait," Harry said, "there's a going to be a gala? With a potential assassin?" She looked at John. "How come I wasn't aware of this?"

John sighed. "Harry, we can send you home-"

Harry looked affronted. "You can not seriously think I want to go home. This'll be the most exciting thing that's happened to me in a long time!"

Sherlock scowled. "You can't come, because we aren't going," he growled.

"Shut up, Holmes," she said. "We are going and you don't have a choice."

"But-" he spluttered, shocked that she had told him no.

"Holmes, be quiet," she said. "You're bored, I'm bored, and I'll be damned if you tell me no."

John had to leave the room, he was laughing so hard at the flabbergasted expression on Sherlock's face.

* * *

The gala was two days later, and Sherlock was displeased to find himself and John in complete formal wear, Harry dressed in the fanciest dress money could rent, on their way to Mycroft's party.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the car Mycroft had sent to pick them up drove.

"I always hated tailcoats."

John raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'd have figured you enjoyed dressing up, with all the suits you wear."

"John, there is a difference between my normal attire and this monstrosity."

"Oi, both of you, shut it!" cried Harry. "At least you aren't in bloody heels."

"Harry, may I remind you that you're the one who wanted to go to this dammed event?" Sherlock spat.

The driver let out a growl of frustration and pulled over. "I don't care if Mr. Holmes sent me, I will kick all of you lot out if you don't shut up."

The backseat quieted down.

"Thank you," driver sighed, and he began to drive again.

The death glares coming from all parties in the backseat were enough to make a lesser man run to the hills and leave civilization.

* * *

Sherlock should've ignored Harry and just sent her home when she demanded to go to the gala.

But damn, that woman could be bossy.

He still should've sent her home.

But the first thing she did when she met Mycroft Holmes, the most powerful man in the western hemisphere, and possibly the world, was offer her hand for him to shake it, raise her eyebrows at him, and say, "So you're this git's brother, then?"

Mycroft was mildly shocked at his inability to intimidate her. Clearing his throat, he twisted his hand around the handle if his umbrella. "Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure to meet you," he deadpanned.

Harry rolled her eyes. "If what John here says is to be believed, then you already know my name and I really don't know why I'm bothering." She looked around and raised an eyebrow. "I understand that this is something really important, but really, it's a bit pretentious, yeah?"

Sherlock was wrong. He most definitely shouldn't have objected to it when Harry said she wanted to go. Seeing Mycroft stutter like that was worth any inconvenience it may have caused him.

* * *

Sherlock located the assassin in five minutes, bit was forced to stay for another hour by Mycroft. He objected at first, but he stopped objecting as he saw the truly spectacular way Harry dealt with the upper class diplomats. Mycroft eventually kicked them out, because he couldn't handle the fellow attendees coming to complain to him about the "rude woman with the brown hair".

Harry pouted the entire way home, John rolled his eyes in resignation, and Sherlock struggles to restrain giggles that threatened to erupt over Harry's antics.

When they finally got home, Harry immediately headed to the bathroom to "take this rubbish off", as she put it. Sherlock and John were left alone in the living area of 221B.

They burst into laughter as soon as she had left the room. "Oh my god," John gasped through laughter. "I've never seen Mycroft like that."

Sherlock continued to laugh. "I haven't either."

Eventually the two settled down and sat down in the couch together, still in their formals. Sherlock put his head on John's shoulder and chuckled softly. "Your sister should come over more often."

John looked play-horrified. "Oh, please no," he said. He nuzzled Sherlock's head with his own, and then placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Sherlock smiled as he pushed closer to John to deepen the kiss.

Which was when Harry stepped out of the bathroom.

"You two," she said, "do realize that there's a bedroom right here?"

John said said something while kissing Sherlock still. It was significantly muffled, but sounded an awful lot like, "Go home, Harry."

Harry rolled her eyes and walked out to go to the upstairs room. "John," she called out, "you and your boyfriend are impossible."

Sherlock and John happily ignored her as they continued kissing.


	20. Challenge 20: Dancing

**DAY 20 CHALLENGE: Dancing**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED**!

* * *

There were days, after cases, when John and Sherlock would dance.

Sherlock had taken dance lessons as a child. He knew how to dance, with almost every style of dance.

But he also possessed a certain lithesome grace that couldn't be learned. The way he moved- it was like a rainstorm, a hurricane. All power and purpose and a raw, primal beauty that only John and a few others got to see.

John couldn't dance unless it was with Sherlock. Without Sherlock, he wad the type of man who would relegate himself to the corner of a room in order to keep from dancing. It was just something he didn't do. But with Sherlock, he suddenly gained a purpose, much like he had when he had first met the man. Suddenly, he had a reason to wrap his arms and hands around his boyfriend's shoulder and arm. He could keep up, and even provide some grace to the dance himself.

Everyone who ever saw them dance said it was the sweetest thing they had ever seen, and they were never exaggerating.

* * *

The case had been particularly difficult.

Not because the criminal was hard to catch- but because someone had died, on his watch. A woman had been murdered, and another was being threatened. He had been placed in charge of the woman's safekeeping, but before he could catch the criminal he had caught her.

He had arrived to the room where she had been staying the next day to find her with her throat slashed open, blood splattered everywhere.

Sherlock didn't particularly care about the victims of crimes in general, but he knew her. She was a fairly intelligent woman whom the detective was fond of.

And then she was murdered.

Sherlock didn't need to say anything for John to know he was upset.

John knew at times like these, talking wouldn't help.

So he turned on the radio, took his love by the hand, buried his head into the taller man's shoulder, and began to dance.

The first number was slow, and Sherlock closed his eyes and let himself relax with the melody. He tightened his hands around John, and held him a little tighter. He swept with him around the room, feeling the soothing sounds issuing from the radio, as well as the soft warmth of his lover's body, provide him with a sense of comfort and security he hadn't felt in a long time.

They swept around, seeming to provide a warmth and light to the room not provided by the fireplace, which was burning. They created soft shadows as they stepped through the firelight, letting the orange glow wash over their bodies and giving them a softer edge.

At the end of the song, Sherlock sighed and placed his lips on top of John's head. "Thank you," he whispered, and it was sincere.

The next song was more upbeat, and John smiled at Sherlock, offering him his hand again. "Shall we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly at the detective.

Sherlock smiled a little sadly at John, still upset but knowing that John was trying to make it better.

"Of course."

Their dance was more lively, and involved more arm flinging and jumping than was strictly necessary, but it was what Sherlock needed. By the time he and John were done, they were covered in sweat and laughing softly, enjoying themselves.

Sherlock leaned down and placed a soft kiss on John's lips. "I love you, John," he said.

"I love you too, Sherlock," John whispered, before going back in for another kiss.

The firelight glowed softly on the two bodies as they held onto each other in 221B.

* * *

**_A/N: Andd, they're up! Thank you all so much for being so understanding and sweet. I felt a lot more confident today knowing there were people internationally rooting for me. I felt all warm and fuzzy when I saw your reviews. And I think I did well. _**

**_But more on that in a minute! Okay, for day 19, I really wanted to write Harry and I really wanted to write he ripping Mycroft a new one. Because Harry don't take no shit. Harry's a bamf. Or at least, that's how I see her. _**

**_And as for this one, well, I was tired, for one, and I was thinking that instead of writing a story about dancing, I could do a story that described dancing. I tried to make it a little lyrical drabble-like thing, and I'm not sure how well I succeeded. It was also h/c. Because I wanted a h/c. _**

**_I don't hate either one (for once!) but I'm not particularly fond of either. So I'm sorry if they suck. _**

**_Oh, and I rediscovered my love of the song "Consolation Prizes" by Phoenix earlier. It's amazing. :)_**

**_Okay, now for finals. I did well on my English, and I'm not sure about APUSH. Why? Well, they weren't kidding when they said it was the hardest test all year. I could answer most questions, but there were a few that were just... gah. Look, we may have talked about the Battle of Antetiem in class, but all that was mentioned was that dumbass McLellan was involved. You didn't even give us the name. I had to infer what it was based off the answers available for the question. _**

**_I'd post a rant that goes more in-depth, and I was just about to, when I realized that there could be APUSH students reading this currently, just waiting for a chance to see this and get hints about what is on the test. Which could technically be construed as cheating. And while I would absolutely love to rant about this, I don't want to help anyone cheat._**

**_So, summary: Many questions. Much civil war. Very hard. Such APUSH. Wow. *insert doge meme here*_**

**_Oh, and I made sure to moonwalk out of the room for you, NZ Tigerlilly. :3 _**

**_BUT I AM FREE. FREE. FREEEEE... No more school for three weeks. And almost no homework. I might have so much time on my hands I could actually update this on time. Or update my other stories. Or work on other prompts. _**

**_Oh, and the lovely Raine-Lily-Vandal called me Rainy in a review. I find I like this nickname. And I am happy I have a nickname. :D _**

**_I am going to see the new Hobbit movie tomorrow, and I am at my friend's house, and we saw both of the new Star Trek movies earlier. Fun. _**

**_I'd also like to give a shout-out to my friend (the girl I've known since Kindergarten) for being the only person I know that ships Johnlock and hasn't seen the show. Nee, you need to see the show. But I am proud of you. _**

**_I think that covers it all. Except my friend and I are now having a random dance party on the couch. Because random dance oarties. On couches. No further explanation is required. _**

**_Have you noticed I get weird when I'm tired?_**

**_Okay, new metaphor time... Reviews mean as much to me as clean floors do to Sally Donovan. Now please leave me a review to help me get rid of those unwelcome mental images. Please. I'm begging you. I also like crying tears of joy, which you guys do every time. Make me cry, please. _**

**_Oh, and I have a question! I'm honestly curious. When I described them dancing, what songs did you imagine them dancing to? I had a few in mind, but I wanted to let you guys decide. So I want to ask what you decided. _**

**_Thank you so much, you guys. I love you so much. You mean the world to me. _**

**_Goodnight, or good morning, _**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_P.S. CUPCAAKEESSSSS (I think I should go to bed.)_**


	21. Challenge 21: Cookingbaking

_Dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. That offer to go and kick someone's ass for you is still in effect. _

* * *

**DAY 21 CHALLENGE: Cooking/baking**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was sick.

Their lovely, saintly landlady (never their housekeeper), who took care of them, joked with them, watched crap telly with them, was sick. John knew it was just a case of the flu. Sherlock thought the world was ending.

"She can't be sick!" he nearly shouted, slamming his fists on the table. "How is she going to tell me what she did with my skull?"

John sighed. "She can and she is, Sherlock," he said, setting the groceries in the table. He added, as an afterthought, "And you shouldn't have done something to make her hide it. I'm going to make her some soup to help her. You can help if you want." He headed into the kitchen, taking the groceries he had gotten with him.

Sherlock trailed behind him. "Why does she need soup?" he asked, genuinely curious. John turned around, eyebrow raised. "What do you mean, why- nevermind. You hardly ever get sick, don't you?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Come on then," he said, looking expectantly at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him, confused. John sighed. "Help me, you git," he said fondly.

Sherlock, lacking anything better to do, complied.

John started by handing Sherlock some vegetables. "Here," he said, "cut these. I'm going to cut up the chicken." He handed Sherlock a knife and went to grab the chicken.

Sherlock stared blankly at the knife. John continued shopping the chicken for a few minutes before he glanced behind him and noticed Sherlock's failure to accomplish anything aside from stare creepily at the knife. "Uh, Sherlock?" he asked, slightly concerned.

Sherlock started, startled out of whatever world he had been visiting. "Yes, John?" he asked, sounding slightly bored. John sighed as he put two and two together. "You don't know how to cut vegetables, do you?" he asked, moving behind the man and turning him around. Sherlock shook his head, letting John grab his hands and show him the motions for cutting. "Honestly," John scoffed, "How did you survive when you lived on your own?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course I knew how to cook back then."

Now it was John's turn to scoff. "Yeah, and what happened to this information?"

"Deleted it," Sherlock said. "Once I moved into here, Mrs. Hudson ensured I ate, and then you. The information was no longer necessary."

John laughed, and kissed the side of Sherlock's head. "I love you, you ridiculous man."

Sherlock was silent, but he did smile in the way only John could get him to.

"Sherlock, no, don't cut like that-! Dammit, forget what I said about you knowing about to cook, how the hell did you survive living on your own?"

Sherlock laughed even as John took over cooking, scowling.

* * *

Sherlock quickly grew bored again.

"Bored, John," he called out.

John sighed. "I'm still cooking."

"Can I observe?"

"Sherlock, I don't even want you in the kitchen right now. The last thing Mrs. Hudson needs is you or I taking a trip to the ER."

Sherlock frowned. "But John..."

He ignored John's cries of protest and went to watch the man cook. It didn't look too difficult, actually. Soon enough, everything was in the pot and boiling away.

Sherlock smiled. "As you can see, I didn't manage to blow up the kitchen. "

John smiled. "That you didn't." He pulled Sherlock down for a kiss, tugging on his shirt. "We need to teach you how to cook," he mumbled. Sherlock moaned, a response that was neither a confirmation or refusal.

John slowly led them in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm taking that as a yes," he gasped as they shut the door.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was very happy to see their food.

"Thank you, boys!" she cried, half unable to speak due to a stuffy nose and sore throat.

John smiled. "It was no problem. If you need anything else, we're right upstairs."

Mrs. Hudson looked slightly taken aback as she realized something. "Sherlock," she asked, "did you help make this?"

John struggled to hold back a laugh as Sherlock smiled and looked at her.

"In a manner of speaking."

* * *

**_A/N: Ladies and gents, this is why you do not attempt to write when you are so tired your eyes are half-closed when you attempt to do so, and you have to go back to every other word you write, because you forgot a word or used the wrong one. Not only is this super-short, but I was half-asleep when I wrote it, so I don't even know if it makes any sense. I apologize for that._**

**_OH MY FUCKING GOD I SAW THE HOBBIT: THE DESOLATION OF SMAUG TODAY AND HOLY SHIT. I nearly killed people because of the cliffhanger, and I caused the people surrounding me to burst out laughing over my reaction to the cliffhanger at the end. Which went something like this:_**

**_"Oh my god, they're going to end the movie right here, aren't they? Please don't end it here. JESUS CHRIST THEY DID. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. This is NOT ACCEPTABLE. Victoria, they have been taking lessons from Moffat. I HATE YOU. YOU BASTARDS. WHAT THE HELL MADE YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? I WILL MURDER YOU ALL. I WILL GO MORIARTY ON YOUR ASS. THIS IS NOT FUCKING ACCEPTABLE." _**

**_I then spent the next five minutes trembling slightly, muttering something about how unacceptable it was. My friend just thought it was hilarious. It was a good movie, though. Just... I am upset about the ending. VERY UPSET. _**

**_Oh, yes, and when I'm upset I make death threats. I never act on them. (or do I?.. mwahaha...)_**

**_Okay, I am amazed at how many of you guys responded with songs that you thought worked. I loved them all (yes, even Unchained Melody, as suggested by the lovely mervoparkite), and I am happy at what good taste in music you all have. Of course, I listen to literally every genre of music aside from hip-hop, so of course I'm going to think that, but still. You made me smile. Okay, so the first one was a song I actually composed in my head. I compose music in my head sometimes. I've never taken music lessons though, and can't play any instruments, or read music, for that matter, so I have never written any down or actually played any. So I'm sorry I can't give you a name or a link or anything, because there isn't one. I assure you, though, it is pretty. And for the second, basically any song I have on my phone I like to dance to could apply, but when I was writing it I was listening to Consolation Prizes by Phoenix, so that's what I imagine. That doesn't mean that was the song they were listening to-that's just what I imagined. The author's word is, by no means, final. The very existence of this site is proof of that. _**

**_Seriously, though, that song is so much fun to dance to. Every time I hear it I automatically start to wiggle in my seat, and if there is someone around I dance with them. _**

**_Speaking of music, if any of you have never heard Broadripple Is Burning by Margot and the Nuclear So and So's, GO LISTEN RIGHT NOW. I don't usually beg for people to listen to songs, but this song made me very sad and I want others to feel the same so I know I'm not insane. Please, listen. It's soft, slow, and made me cry. And if you can't listen to the song, do yourself a favor and find the lyrics. _**

**_I'm sorry this is going up so late again. I should rename this fic Love Everlasting: aka the Fic Where Promises to Update On Time Are Made But Never Kept By Rainy. _**

**_Oh, and when I saw The Desolation of Smaug, there were demonic children behind us. I' not even joking- they started laughing at all the parts where people got hurt or died. It terrified me a bit. And also, is it bad that the part with the GIANT FUCKING BEES and the butterflies scared me more than the rest of the movie? I have a phobia of bugs. They terrify me. Every. Single. One. _**

**_Please leave a review! Even if it just to comment about my day, because today's story was so short and sucky. They mean as much to me as squeaky-clean floors do to Sally Donovan. (Liked that metaphor, did you, ObservationofTriffles? ;P) So please, review. I'll love you forever. _**

**_And due to popular demand, I will be making Harry appear at least twice more in this fic. I'm amazed at how much you guys love her. I mean, I love her too, but you guys seem to really love her. So I will be more than happy to fill your demands. _**

**_Goodnight, or Good Morning,_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_P.S. Three weeks down, you guys. I have nine days left. I feel like crying. You are all amazing. I can never thank you enough._**

**_P.P.S. Okay, so I've got a few prompts to fill, a collection of one-shots I'm going to write for Raine-Lily-Vandal and her query about the cases I mention but never flesh out, and a multi-chapter I'm going to start that will be an extension of my genderbend challenge that I am going to write once this challenge is over, but I still want prompts! I can't get enough! They make me so happy. :) _**

**_P.P.P.S. You guys don't know this, because this is a Johnlock fic, and therefore focused on Johnlock, but I also ship Mystrade and MorMor really hard. I've been wanting to include references in here so badly, but have refrained, because, as stated above, this is a Johnlock fic. However, I am thinking about maybe doing a few Mystrade or MorMor fics once this is done. If any of you have any suggestions or ideas, I would love to hear them!_**

**_P.P.P.P.S. Jesus Christ, this is a long author's note, even by my standards._**


	22. Challenge 22: Fighting side-by-side

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Prompts... Prompts... X{D_

* * *

**DAY 22 CHALLENGE: In battle, side-by-side**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were badasses.

There was no way around it- as unglamorous as they said their life was, and how often they (well, John, anyways) insisted they weren't that different, they were Class A, Total Fucking Badasses. Everyone knew it, except for the two men themselves, it appeared. The members of the NSY, though they would never admit, sometimes would have discussions where they admired John and Sherlock's badassery. Their many fans (especially their fangirls) called them "bamfs" (whatever that meant).

Eventually, Sherlock just learned to ignore it, and John started taking it as a compliment when someone left a comment on his blog that went along the lines of, "OMG you guys are such badasses!", even if he completely disagreed.

But as much as they denied it, there were times when even they had to admit, yeah, what they just did could be considered badass.

This was one of those times.

* * *

Criminals were, as a general rule, not very friendly people. Especially if one was trying to catch those criminals.

Sherlock and John knew this all too well. In the seven years since they had met, and the two since they had gotten together, they and been shot, stabbed, punched, kicked, bruised, beaten and burned no less than fourty two times each. Getting hurt was an inevitable part of their work.

Over the years, though, they did learn to perfect the art of how to fight back.

Sherlock had been pretty adept at this skill before he had met John, and after, as evidenced by his ability to fight off an assassin with a massive sword single handedly. But when he began to get into these situations with John, he quickly learned a new style of fighting- one that relied upon John to watch his back. It was far more effective, and when they fought together, their likelihood to escape with few or no injuries increased tenfold.

John was in the Army. He knew how to defend himself. Even though he was a bit out of practice when he first began to get involved in these situations with Sherlock, he quickly relearned everything and then some. Because John Watson learned how to fight with Sherlock Holmes by his side, and that in itself was a whole new style of fighting. An exhilarating, pure adrenaline rush that was almost like dancing in its fluidity and motion.

It came in handy on occasion.

* * *

The four criminals were idiots.

Well, of course they were. Practically everyone was.

That didn't mean it was any less shocking for Detective Inspector Lestrade and his team when they arrived at the scene, expecting to find a severely beaten former Army doctor and consulting detective, and instead found four battered criminals, tied neatly to a pipe, with a note nearby which read, "Caught these for you. The third on the left is the leader. Will be at Baker Street. Next time, keep your phone on. -SH".

Lestrade chuckled softly when he saw that. He needed to know how the hell the two of them had managed to subdue the four larger, more violent criminals. It was a necessity.

The truth was far better than he'd been thinking.

* * *

As it turned out, the fight scene had almost been like something out a film.

The men had attempted to ambush Sherlock and John in an alleyway.

Sherlock and John knew what was happening.

Sherlock took a look at John. "They're here," he said, plainly- a simple statement of fact.

John sighed. "I know, Sherlock," he said. "They aren't exactly being subtle."

"You can come out," Sherlock called out. "Your pathetic attempt at an ambush isn't fooling anyone."

The largest man, the leader, stepped out from the shadows. "Well, well, well," he said. "If it ain't the great Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock sighed flippantly. "Yes, you can identify people and remember their names and everything. Great job. Now, I can tell you how you're guilty, which you already know, and take you away, or I could just take you away. Which one will it be?"

The man shook his head. "There's another choice, " he said, thick accent bleeding through.

"Oh really?" Sherlock drawled, sounding bored. John knew what was going to occur, and tensed himself.

"I could have my friends here take care of you." Three other men walked out of the shadows.

Sherlock automatically sidled closer to John, and John began to posture himself defensively, but Sherlock continued to talk. "Oh, and what were you hoping these idiots would accomplish?"

The man was honestly confused for a minute. "What do you mean, what was I hoping.. What-" He cut himself off as he realized what was happening. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Your observational skills astound me," he deadpanned.

The man nodded his head, not noting the sarcasm. "Get 'em, boys," he called out, before rushing towards the pair himself.

The men obviously expected an easy takedown. That is not what they received.

All hell broke loose.

One of the smallest men got there first. He swung a fist at Sherlock's face, obviously hoping for an easy takedown. Sherlock ducked, letting the blow fly over his head, before sending a fist into the man's gut. Doubling over, the man gasped for air. Sherlock quickly flipped the man over and knocked him out.

On his other side, John was facing someone similar. Dodging a blow to his side, he swung an uppercut into the soft flesh of the man's gut. Soon, he was similarly taken care of.

Which left two more.

The last two men, the leader and the other goon, paused momentarily when they saw how quickly their companions were taken down. They apparently didn't learn from their mistakes though, and continued to rush at John and Sherlock.

Sherlock sucked amd John took out one, while Sherlock tripped up another with a careful blow to the side of the knee.

Sherlock and John stood up, holding onto each other. They looked at each other, slightly out of breath. John began to giggle, much in the same way he had that very first night he and Sherlock had met, after chasing a cab across London. Sherlock's low baritone chuckle joined in, and soon they were leaning up against a wall, John resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He closed his eyes peacefully, and nuzzled himself a little closer. Sherlock almost purred.

One of the men let out a low groan. John sighed. "I suppose I should call Lestrade," he said, pulling his phone out. Sherlock motioned for him not to. "No need. He figured out we're here, and his phone is off anyways. Help me tie these idiots up."

John chuckled, putting away his phone. He helped Sherlock tie up the men, laughing as Sherlock left a note on the building.

"Baker Street?" Sherlock asked, holding out his hand.

"Oh, god, yes," John said, taking Sherlock's hand in his as they left the men, sirens only a few minutes away.

* * *

As they settled back down after the fight, Sherlock flopped down onto couch while John made them tea. John, setting Sherlock's cup on the table, took his own, sipped the still-hot liquid, and let out a sigh of contentment. Sitting down next to Sherlock, he finished his tea and then laud down on top of the detective.

The detective shuffled until he was in a comfortable position. John, smiling, brought his hand up to the man's chest and hugged him from behind, nuzzling his lips on the man's neck and breathing in Sherlock's smell.

"Love you, 'Lock," he whispered sleepily. The fight really had worn him out.

"Love you too, John," the detective whispered, before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

**_Rainy's Ramble: You've got to love convenient timing._**

**_I was all set to throw this computer across the room, because it fucking SHUT DOWN after I had written a beautiful ramble, when Float On by Modest Mouse came on my Foster the People Pandora station and reminded me to take a chill pill._**

**_Now, to retype._**

**_This was the first action scene I have ever written. I took five years of Kung fu, but am by no means an expert, so I'm sorry if this is inaccurate or sucks._**

**_I think someone drugged my Dr. Pepper that I got at the Burger King last night. That's the only explanation I can come up with for me being so tired that I couldn't remember writing the story, much less publishing it or writing my ramble. Which I was horrified by when I discovered this morning. I'm so sorry about that, you guys. _**

**_Oh, and I've decided to call these Rainy's Rambles! Because, in all honesty, they aren't real author's notes. It was inspired with a conversation I had with dance. till. i. drop, where I was desperately trying to figure out what I'd written, and asked "Did I say anything too embarrassing?, to which she replied, "Not really. Just normal Rainy rambles. :) in my opinion." A light bulb went off in my head. Thank you, my dear, for that. _**

**_Also, I got two new prompts! One is from my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy, where she gave me the song "Virgin" by Manchester Orchestra, and asked me to write a serious h/c Johnlock fic. The other was a suggestion from another dear friend- she suggested a totally awesome AU idea to me that I was like, "Oh my gosh, I need this." You'll see what it is when I write it. ;) I really need to make a list of these. I'm going to lose track someday. _**

**_Also, be prepared for an angst storm. My end goal is to upset people. It will have two parts- one, which is tomorrow's prompt (technically today's, seeing as it is two in the morning, but eh, technicalities), and then the challenge after that. I hope it upsets you all. Mwahahahaha... _**

**_Also, I am going to go to Arizona tomorrow and will be there until January sixth. Which means ample writing time and fun. :) While this fic won't be international, it will be multi-statial (is that even a word?)._**

**_PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! Donovan loves clean floors as much as I love reviews! I cry a little every time I get a review. Please help me cry. I'll love you forever. And to those of you who have been reviewing... thank you. I adore you, each and every one._**

**_I should probably get some sleep now. Goodnight, dearies, or good morning. Love you all. :)_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_*dances to Kids by MGMT* *hits head on bedpost*_**


	23. Challenge 23: Arguing (part 1 of 2)

**_A/N: No Rainy Ramble today. My computer is acting up. However, this is based off of two prompts: one, from Loki Laufeyson - Mischief God, who requested jealousy. And another from Star Trekker 13- whose prompt I would give you, but I don't want to spoil it. Enjoy the angst fest. This particular plot line will be resolved tomorrow. In the meantime- enjoy. _**

* * *

_Dedicated to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Playlists shall be sent soon. In the meantime- look up My Immortal by Evanescence, think of John post- Reichenbach, and try not to cry. _

* * *

**DAY 23 CHALLENGE: Arguing**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

There were days Sherlock Holmes would never forget.

There was the day his father left him. The day he left to go to Uni. The day he first tried substances that were less than legal. The day he almost died of an overdose, and woke up with Mycroft standing over him, livid, but also an expression that betrayed such worry and sentiment that Sherlock hoped to never see it again. The day he solved his first case with Lestrade. The day he met Captain John Watson, MD, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. The day he first began to really know John, when he shot a man to save his life within the first fourty eight hours of meeting him. The first time he nearly lost John Watson, during that night at the pool. The day he saw the hound. The day he had to die to save John. The day John took him back. The day John kissed him for the first time.

But one day that Sherlock didn't want to remember, the day he wanted to delete but refused to he deleted, was the the day he nearly lost John Watson for good.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was an attractive man.

There was no way around it. Most people, when they first saw him, immediately wanted a piece of him, not taking into consideration his gender or their sexuality. Then he opened his mouth, and most people fled. If advances continued to be made, it spoke more for the issue of the flirter's sanity than the receiver of flirting himself.

John was okay with this. He knew Sherlock was faithful, and he knew he'd be lying if he said he hadn't caught himself staring at the man years before they had gotten together.

John had a similar problem.

He was attractive, but in a different way. He had a certain magnetism to him that told people, of all genders, here was a loyal man who would never give up on you, that you could settle down with in the countryside and have children with. That, and he just had a natural charm that drew in others.

But John didn't scare away others when he spoke- that was the problem. And this irritated Sherlock to no end. John was his, dammit, and no one else should be flirting with his boyfriend.

This led to more than a few tiffs for both of them, but it usually ended well when John allowed Sherlock to show just how much he was his, and vice versa, casing them both to need to wear scarves for the next few days.

But this time was different.

* * *

Usually it was women who hit on John. While Sherlock still wasn't pleased with this, women were easier to deal with, in a way. When John patiently explained that he had a boyfriend, or Sherlock ran up behind him and wrapped his arms possessively around him, that was normally enough to shut them up.

Men, though, were harder.

And damn it all to hell, this time it was a man.

Who just. Wouldn't. Stop.

Sherlock tried everything. He walked up to John and put his hand possessively on his shoulder. He'd whispered in his ear in a way which clearly said that these two were far more than friends. He'd wrapped his arms behind him, for god's sake. His arms were still wrapped around him, making him look like a clingy toddler.

The man raised an eyebrow, flicking his eyes toward the lump of Sherlock attached to John's back. "Bit possessive, ain't he?" he asked, thick accent making his words bleed together.

John laughed uncomfortably. "Yes," he said, "my _boyfriend_ is possessive like you would not believe." He had stopped being comfortable with this situation as soon as it had started, and was now trying to find a polite way to tell the man to bugger off.

The man shrugged, unaffected by his statement. "Well, if you want a good time," he said, "call me." He handed John a piece of paper, presumably with his mobile number on it. Sherlock fumed as John breathed a sigh a relief, both watching the man exit out of the shop.

Sherlock growled, pulling on John's coat collar. "Out. Now." He dragged John out.

Sherlock waited until they were a block away before he began to speak, spitting words out like venom. "That man was divorced, did, no, does heroin, has two other boyfriends that don't know about each other, and works in a drug ring." Sherlock spun around, forcing John to look him in the eye.

"Well, Sherlock, if you hadn't noticed, I was trying to get him to go away."

"Yes, and bloody brilliant job you were doing, too," Sherlock hissed. "You were practically blushing like a schoolgirl."

John was pissed. "You know what, Sherlock? For someone as bloody brilliant as you, you can be really fucking thick sometimes. I could tell he was bad and it was taking everything I had not to tell him to bugger off."

"Of course," Sherlock scoffed, "that's why you pocketed his number."

John looked in his pocket. Sure enough, the number was there. Angry, he pulled it out. He ripped it in half, then quarters, in front of the detective's face. "There?" he asked. "That enough for you?"

Sherlock turned around.

John fumed for a second, before storming off. He turned around and faced the detective. "I can't deal with this right now," he said. "You don't even realize what I was trying to do, or how much he repulsed me. It's insulting you think I would be interested in him, after all our time together." He waved his hand behind him, turning around and walking away. "I can't do this. I'll see you at the flat later."

He stormed off, leaving a very angry and slightly concerned consulting detective in his wake.

* * *

Sherlock wished he could go back. He wish he could've stopped John. He wish he could take back every single hurtful, stupid word he'd said.

But what's done is done, and the best one can hope for is to leave their demons in the past and move on towards the future.

* * *

John was still angry three hours later.

He'd been wandering around London, not paying attention to where he was or where he was going. When it had started to rain, he just muttered angrily and kept walking.

He was blind in his rage. He loved Sherlock. But how dare he treat him like that? He'd done the best he could with a difficult situation. Sherlock may not care about social niceties, but John didn't like offending people as a general rule, especially when the person in question was a drug addict who looked strong enough to take them both down. How dare he accuse him of showing interest? He'd been almost disgusted by the man. Not by the drugs habit- that would be hypocritical, considering Sherlock's history- but by his persistence, even when they had made it more than clear that he was taken. Sherlock shouldn't be jealous, for god's sake!

Rage can make people blind, in more ways than one.

Rain can make it hard to see.

As John crossed a street, he didn't pay attention to where he was. He didn't pay attention to the speeding cab heading towards him.

As the cabbie drove, he was distracted. The lady in the back had a squawking baby, which reminded him of his newborn child at home, and how his wife was holding up. He squires his eyes, trying to see out of the window a little better.

Both men were as good as blind. Fate made it so.

They collided with a colossal thump, which resulted in panic on the part of the cab driver, and pain and white light on the part of the doctor's.

The cabbie ran out, and gasped with horror when he realized he'd hit a man. He dialed 999 frantically, while checking to see if the man was still alive.

He was. Barely.

John was conscious for exactly one minute after the crash occurred. In that time, he realized he could die, that he would die unless help arrived soon, that he had gone numb and felt cold, and that he loved Sherlock.

He'd known before, of course, but he realized it with the sudden clarity of a dying man. He forgave Sherlock in that very instant, and knew he might never be able to tell the man in person.

His last thought before blacking out was, "Please, God, let me live. For Sherlock."

Overwhelming blackness came, drowning out the frantic voice of the cabbie, the patter of the rain on his skin, and his own fevered thoughts.

* * *

Sherlock was back at 221B, fuming.

He knew to some degree that he was overreacting. But some primal beast was released in him when that man had flirted with his John, and that beast's anger was not easily vanquished.

He sat, growling at nothing, occasionally shooting glares at the skull and the obscenely bright yellow smiley face on the wall.

His mobile rung once. He ignored it. It rung again, and he ignored it still. He picked up on the third call.

He looked at the caller ID. St. Bart's. Probably Molly, bothering him about some body parts he'd stolen earlier in the week. But something wasn't right. Molly would never call that many times.

A feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He picked it up slowly, raising it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked.

"Hello, is this Mr. Holmes?"

"Speaking."

"We're calling because you're listed as John Watson's emergency  
contact. We're afraid there's been an accident."

Sherlock's entire world cracked with that one sentence.

He paused, composed himself. "What happened?"

"We think he was hit by a cab. The cabbie called him in himself."

Oh, god.

"Is he- will he be alright?"

"We're not sure. We need you to come down here." A nervous swallow. "You may need to say goodbye."

Sherlock's world shattered into a million crystalline shards. Acid poured into his stomach, ice shot down his spine.

"I'm on my way," he breathed. He stood still for a second, before flying out of the room.

He didn't care that he was in his robe. He didn't care his hair was mussed up, or that his feet were barefoot against the cold, wet London concrete.

He forgot his anger. He forgot everything.

John needed him.

And he'd do anything he could to be there for him.

Because Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson, and he realized it with such a great rush of realization he nearly stopped and gasped at the sheer magnitude of it. He'd known before, but know be _knew_. Knew that he couldn't imagine life without him, that he was the best thing that'd ever happened to him, and it was a cruel truck of fate he'd only just realized it. Because it may have been too late, for both of them.

He ran all the way to St. Bart's.

**PART 1 OF 2**

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**_Review! Please! For the sake of squeaky clean floors for Sally Donovan, and a happy ending for our boys! _**

**_I love you all, have a great night and day, please don't kill me, and a ramble is coming tomorrow._**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**


	24. Challenge 24: Making Up (part 2 of 2)

**_A/N: I am pleased to announce, there will be a Rainy Ramble at the end of this! I'm sorry about yesterday, ObservationofTrifles, but it took me over an hour and a half to get the chapter up as is. I was too tired and frustrated to even resnt and ramble about how tired and frustrated I was._**

**_And JESUS CHRIST you guys. I have never been happier to receive death threats. I'm glad you liked it. Now, for the continuation... Enjoy. Oh, yes, and I have been planning this since the beginning. _**

* * *

_Dedicated to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Merry Christmas Eve, good luck at the concert, and enjoy that pumpkin roll! _

* * *

**DAY 24 CHALLENGE- Making Up (part 2 of 2)**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

_Beep, beep, beep. _

Sherlock hated that sound.

On one hand, it reminded him that John was somehow still alive. Breathing. By some miracle of modern medicine, the man he loved was still alive.

On the other, every beep reminded him of what had happened. Who had put him there.

_Beep._ You're not good enough for him.

_Beep._ You're the one who put him here.

_Beep._ You should have just apologized.

_Beep._ You love him.

Sherlock buried his head into the bed sheets on the cheap hospital bed John laid on. He gripped his hand even tighter, reminded horribly of a similar situation that had occurred what seemed like a lifetime ago. But then John's recovery had been assured.

In a way, John's recovery was assured. But they didn't know what the effects would be. His bodily wounds were relatively minor- well, minor when put in context with the situation. But he'd suffered cranial trauma, to the extent of which was unknown. He'd been in a coma, but was slowly regaining consciousness.

Sherlock was worried. He knew the potential effects of a brain injury. Amnesia. Personality change. Troubles communicating. Cognitive difficulties. The possibilities spread out before his mind, each as terrifying as the one previous.

When John finally woke, he was conscious only for five minutes.

His finger twitched, which startled Sherlock into full awareness again. "John?" he whispered, barely breathing.

John groaned softly. "Sh'rlck..." he slurred.

Sherlock felt as if a small planet had been moved off his chest right then. John knew who he was. That was a start.

"John," he said. "Perhaps you should go back to sleep. I'll alert the doctors." Even now, he found it hard to be comforting.

John just groaned slightly again in response. Sherlock pressed the call button, and soon an armada of nurses and doctors had invaded the room, checking on his doctor.

By the time they'd left, John was asleep again. Sherlock sat back down, again taking up his bedside vigil by the doctor's bedside. He grabbed his hand once more, and squeezed the fingers.

He was alone once more except for the sound of the heart monitor.

_Beep, beep, beep. _

* * *

Harry Watson showed up the next day.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, confused. He didn't know that John's sister knew about the accident, much less was going to visit him in the hospital.

"He's my brother, Holmes," she growled. "I don't care how much we do or don't get on, if I get a call saying my brother's been hit by a fucking cab I am visiting him."

Sherlock was forcibly shoved out of the way as she barreled into his room. He waited patiently outside. He may not have been the best with social queues, but he could tell it would be entirely his fault if he stepped in and Harry Watson, quite literally, ripped his head off.

* * *

Harry stepped back out about a half hour later.

"How," she seethed, "the hell did this happen?"

Sherlock stepped back involuntarily.

"Holmes," she hissed, "I swear to god, if this happened because of you-" She suddenly took a deep breath, and stepped back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've been trying to learn to control my temper." She sat down, and it looked as of the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

Sherlock didn't sympathize, but he understood. He'd been in the same position not one day ago.

"Talk," she commanded.

Sherlock obeyed.

He told her everything- of the creepy man, their argument, the things he'd done that he regretted. He looked up when he was done, expecting to be torn limb from limb. He almost wouldn't object either. He knew the accident was his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid and blinded by what, looking back, he realized was jealousy, John never would have gotten hurt.

Harry sighed. "What's his prognosis?"

Sherlock blinked. That was an unexpected response. "They don't know. He's going to live though, most likely."

She out her head in her hands, and then looked up. "Well," she said.

"Well what?"

"Holmes, you look like you expect me to light you on fire."

"Given our past history, that isn't an improbable deduction."

"Well, I'm not." She looked him straight in the eye. "I know what it's like to argue with someone you love. You both say things you regret. This was no different." She sat back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "I still want to rip your throat out, though."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm not sure John would approve."

She smiled. "No, he wouldn't." She then looked at him, a quizzical expression on her face. "Has he dropped the question yet?"

If Sherlock had been drinking something, it would have been spat across the room. "What?!"

"Has my idiot of a brother asked you to marry him yet?"

"No, I heard you the first time. What makes you think he would want to ask?"

"Well, let's see. Maybe the fact he loves you more than he lets on and is, and always has been, the marrying type." She leaned forward, putting a hand underneath her head. "The fact he hasn't asked yet tells me he's scared you'll say no. And while I'm not your biggest fan, I can tell you love my brother and I can say you are probably the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's probably the same to you."

She leaned back, watching the effects of her speech fall on Sherlock. "Now, why aren't you two married yet?"

Sherlock wasn't that easily defeated. "Maybe we felt it wasn't time."

Harry sighed. "Sherlock, my brother is laying on a hospital bed. He nearly died, and we don't know how much he's been effected. I'd say it's now or never."

Sherlock looked at her blankly. "Did you just give me permission to marry your brother?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot." She leaned forward, one more time, and looked Sherlock straight in the eye. "Holmes, I just told you to go marry my brother."

* * *

When John came to again, he wasn't awake for much longer.

It was the same the third time. And the fourth time.

The fifth time he opened his eyes, Sherlock was standing next to the bed. "Sherlock," he muttered.

Sherlock whipped around. "John," he said, voice filled with relief. He paused, looked at him. Determined he was awake, and he would stay awake.

Hesitantly, he asked the question. "Do you remember what happened?"

John frowned, because for a second, he couldn't remember. Then it all came flooding back. The argument. The anger. The rain. The cab.

His last plea.

He gulped, and looked at Sherlock. "Yes."

Sherlock stiffened. "John, I'm-"

"No," John said, hacking slightly. As soon as he could breathe again, he gestured for some water for his dry throat. Sherlock returned with ice cubes.

Once he could speak again, he continued. "No," he said, throat still slightly hoarse. "Sherlock, don't. I shouldn't have done that. I-"

"John," Sherlock said, and the look on his face was so pained, for lack of a better word, that John stopped. "John, I'm... Sorry. It's my fault you're in here. I..." Sherlock was once again at a loss for words.

John smiled. "Sherlock, it's not your fault. Just... Stop blaming yourself, yeah?" He coughed once more.

Sherlock looked down. "No," John said, "Come over here." Sherlock looked up and do as he was told without saying a word.

John put his finger underneath Sherlock's chin, forcing him to look at him. "It's not. Your. Fault," he whispered.

Sherlock looked shaken. "You almost died, John," he said, a simple statement of fact. "Do you remember- no, of course you do. The night you were shot."

John nodded. He remembered.

"I told you not to talk about what had happened, and-" He growled with frustration. "Dammit, I can't do this!"

John laughed, despite himself. "It's okay, Sherlock," he said. "I know what you're trying to say." And he did. He knew Sherlock was saying he was worried. That he loved John.

Sherlock knelt down next to John, putting his head by John's hand. John weakly pushed a hand through the unbrushed curls.

Sherlock sighed. "Your sister just ordered me to ask you to marry me," he said, a way of conversation.

John stopped the rhythmic stroking, and nearly choked. "What?"

Sherlock turned his head slightly to the side, so he could look at John. "We could get married," he said. He coughed awkwardly. "If you want."

John's mind went blank for a moment. Then-

"Sherlock, did you just propose to me in the middle of a hospital room-my hospital room?"

Sherlock frowned. "I suppose I did, if you call that proposing." He looked at John. "Why, did I do something wrong?"

John laughed. "Well, usually it's a yes or no question, not 'we can get married if you want'. And rings are oftentimes involved."

Sherlock frowned. "That could be arranged."

John laughed. "No, that's fine," he said.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Come kiss me and tell me yourself, Mr. Genius."

Sherlock leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on John's lips. He didn't want to do anything to invigorating- the man had just woken up from a coma.

"That's a yes, then." Sherlock sounded breathless, relieved, happy.

"I knew you would say yes." Smugness filled his voice now.

"No, you didn't," John said, in a bemused tone. "You didn't even know that you were proposing to me."

"Of course I did," Sherlock said haughtily. "It was all part of my plan."

"Oh, really?" John raised an eyebrow ay him. "Please, tell me about your plan then."

Sherlock scowled.

John laughed.

They really were okay.

* * *

There were days Sherlock Holmes would never forget.

There were days that, no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never get rid of.

And there were days that were burned into his mind palace so strongly he couldn't turn a corner without bumping into those memories, filling him with an overwhelming sense of joy and wholeness.

This was one of those days.

* * *

People took it as expected.

Which was to say Mrs. Hudson flew into hysterics ("My boys!"), Mycroft sent them a overly pompous "Congratulations" card, which Sherlock used to help light the fireplace, Harry said "took you two idiots long enough", Lestrade offered to take John for a celebratory pint (John declined- he was still recovering), the NSY started spreading gossip like wildfire concerning the details of their engagement (one particularly colorful story had Sherlock kneeling on top of a dead body at a crime scene to hand John a ring), and the menacing figure of Mummy Holmes congratulated them and threatened to make an appearance.

All in all,when John was finally released from the hospital, things were relatively back to normal. John had to take it easy for a while, which meant he had more experiments of Sherlock's to contend with, but that was okay.

John still got a shock every time he looked over at Sherlock and thought, "That man's my fiancée."

He couldn't be happier.

**END OF PART 2**

* * *

_**Rainy's Ramble: LOOK AT THAT. YOU WANTED A HAPPY ENDING? I GAVE YOU A MOTHERFUCKING HAPPY ENDING. I almost vomited at how sweet this was several times when I was writing it.**_

**_Seriously_**_**, though, I worked HARD on this. I did research on types of injuries and their effects (and still remained as vague as possible), took several thinking naps, and made it to the point where my brain is now barely functioning. Why? Because there were three parts of me: one, who wanted to mercilessly kill off every character in a tragic bombing, another which wanted a tearful reunion with it fucking raining flowers, marshmallows and rainbows with the sweetness of it, and the other part wanted this. Sometimes I have more in common with James Moriarty than I'd like to admit.**_

_**But yes. I struggled with this. I'd catch myself saying something WAAYYY OOC and I'd either have to rework the entire paragraph or adopt it so what Sherlock was conveying was the same, just stated differently. I did the best I could, though. So I apologize if this is OOC- please don't give me hate for it. I tried, I really did.**_

_**Also, I should point out that I am about as far from a doctor as one can get. I'm fifteen, and the only thing I know about medicine and the human body is what I learned in Biology last year, the medical shows I watched as a child (most children watched Spongebob or Sesame Street as a child- nooo, I watched shows on theoretical physics, medicine, criminology, and cryptozooology. I had an interesting childhood), and what I've learned by reading books and, you guessed it, fanfiction. Oh, and I spent three hours doing research online. But I am NOT a doctor, or an expert, and I tried to remain as vague as possible throughout this so as to not give away my total lack of knowledge in this area. If there are any inaccuracies, feel free to PM me and point them out.**_

_**Now to fangirl. OOOHHHH MY GOOOODDDD DID YOU SEE THE MINI-EPISODE?! WITH THE ANDERSON IN JOHN'S JUMPER AND JOHN IN A SHIRT THAT LOOKED SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE SHERLOCK'S AND THE FUCKING VIDEO AND JOHN DRINKING IN ORDER TO GET THROUGH IT AND THE MEMBER OF THE HOMELESS NETWORK HOLDING UP THE NEWSPAPER AND HOOLLLLYYYY SHIIIITTTT. I WATCHED THAT THING LIKE SEVEN FUCKING TIMES. AND I STARTED FUCKING PSYCHOANALYZING THAT SHIT AND OOHHH MYYY GOOODDDD. **_

_**AND THEN I ACTUALLY WENT INTO SHOCK I'M NOT EVEN JOKING. I STARTED SHAKING AND HYPERVENTILATING AND ALMOST PASSED OUT AND ENDED UP WRAPPING MY SLEEPING BAG AROUND MYSELF BECAUSE I'M STAYING IN MY GRANDPARENT'S MOTOR HOME AND THEY DON'T HAVE BLANKETS IN HERE. **_

_**Yes, the caps were necessary. How else could I convey my excitement without screaming into your ear for five minutes straight?**_

_**Okay, so here's a brief summary of my car ride out here:**_

_**Me: (thinks) Yeah! I'm gonna read and write and get all this shit done!**_

_**Me (what I actually do): *roleplays with friends* *listens to music* *stares out window apathetically* *wonders if it's even worth the effort to breathe***_

_**And that, ladies and gents, sums up my entire life in a way nothing else ever has.**_

_**It's pretty nice here in Arizona. Nothing much has happened so far. **_

_**Okay, and now for exciting news!**_

_**As many of you know, tomorrow is Christmas. (Well, tomorrow for me- for most of you, its's probably been Christmas for a while now.) And I am going to write not one, not two, but THREE fucking Christmas specials. One is the one for here, which Loki Laufeyson- Mischief God suggested involve mistletoe. The second is a completely unrelated prompt from Lifeuniverseeverything42, who prompted me with Christmas dinner with the Watson-Holmes family, to which I thought OMG I CAN DO A PARENTLOCK FOR A PROMPT HOW SWEET IS THAT. And the third is from my dear friend Heidi. You may remember her as the friend a few chapters back who inspired an impressive stream of obscenities to flow from my fingertips. Let's just say she asked me to print something out for her, and the things she had me print out mentally scarred me for life. ANYWAYS she asked me to do a Cecilos (from Welcome to Night Vale) Christmas fic, and I couldn't say no because not only is she an awesome friend she made me a Sherlock scarf for Christmas. I'm not even joking. So I had to accept. So if any of you, whatsoever, are interested in the other two I'll be doing, check out my profile. I'm not sure what order I'll be writing or posting them in, but tomorrow will not be boring- that's for sure. **_

_**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. Because Donovan likes clean floors. And I like reviews. And every time I get a review, she doesn't have to clean the floors for anybody. She likes clean floors even more when she doesn't have to clean them.**_

_**And I thank you, each and every one of you, for putting up with my shit. You are amazing. Happy Christmas eve/Christmas, and for those of you who don't celebrate the holiday- I wish you a fan-fucking-tastic day anyways. Six more days, guys, and then it'll all be over. I'm saddened by this. Deeply saddened. But not too sad. Why? Because I've got the prompts you've given me, my upcoming multichapters, and all that jazz, and I hope I'll see you there. Because you all are amazing. Your support... you have no idea what it's done to me. At the start of this challenge, I was a self-loathing mess who was just doing this as a Christmas present because by some miracle. my amazingly talented Sherlock ADD Buddy liked the little bit I'd done for the first challenge, and I wanted to give her something nice for Christmas. I'd always hate myself after I posted every chapter, and told myself not to expect any reviews because it sucked, no one liked it, and I was just fooling myself by thinking I could ever be a good writer. Let's just say you guys have changed that opinion drastically. I owe you guys so much, and I can never fully repay you for all you have done for me.**_

_**Merry Christmas eve/Christmas, and I wish you all the best. Many happy returns. ;)**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**P.S. ObservationofTrifles, I have received your prompt of "kittens", and look forward to writing it. Expect it on day 29. **_

_**P.P.S. Thanks to all my guest reviewers, who I can't PM a thank you too like I normally do. Thank you. You guys are the best. :)**_


	25. Challenge 25: THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

**_A/N: HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS. I am so, so, so, sorry. I blame ff. I was literally *just* about to post this and my other stories when this fucking site decided to crash AGAIN after being crashed ALL FUCKING DAY. So, I apologize. It's around 2:30 in the morning here, an I can't sleep because as it turns out, sleeping on your's grandma's lumpy on couch, in her cold motor home, with nothing but a sleeping bag and a really old and super thin pillow you've had since you were six isn't as conductive towards falling and maintaing sleep as one would think. So I went eh, why not post this now. Thank you for your patience. My ramble is at the bottom. Enjoy. :)_**

* * *

_Dedicated to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Merry Christmas, and that damn song has been stuck in my head ALL NIGHT. I believe I have found a new song to listen to when I read Johnlock smut. Thanks for that. ;3_

* * *

**DAY 25: THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL (aka Mistletoe, as prompted by Loki Laufeyson- Mischief God)**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

Sherlock and John didn't have many Christmases together.

They had only had one before Sherlock went and jumped off a roof, and then they missed three. Those three Christmases were the worst of John's life.

Then Sherlock returned.

After that, they had one more Christmas where they weren't a couple. Two more where they were.

And on their first as an engaged couple, they celebrated alone for the first time.

Every year previously, they had spent it with friends or family, but this year was different. This year they were engaged. Going to get married. Dedicated to each other. It seemed almost rude to intrude upon the pair for more than a "Happy Christmas" call.

Mrs. Hudson, of course, was the exception. Their sweet old landlady, who was like a mother to Sherlock, was an exception to a lot of things. This was no different.

And she had a plan.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson passed out on the sofa on Christmas eve.

So when they woke up in the same place on Christmas morning, it didn't really come as a surprise.

"Damn," John muttered, rubbing his shoulder. He'd been trying to sleep on the couch less, because of how badly it hurt his already-wounded shoulder. But it was too late now.

Sherlock yawned next to him. Currently the consulting detective's lanky arms were wrapped around his middle, pale skin offset by the darker tone of his lover's skin. Sherlock buried his head in John's shoulder from behind him.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," John said, smiling. John could feel Sherlock smile and pull back, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. John loved these mornings- Sherlock was always more physically affectionate than he'd normally be. Sherlock didn't say "Merry Christmas," but that was okay. John knew it was being said mentally.

John slowly extricated himself from his lover's arms and stood up. "What do you want for breakfast, Sherlock?" he called out as he headed toward the kitchen. They'd decided not to do presents that year- Sherlock believed it was an archaic tradition, and John was relieved he wouldn't have to search for something the detective might want or need.

Plus, the detective's thought was that he was lucky enough that his doctor was still alive and with him. That was gift enough.

Sherlock moaned and flopped around on the couch. John laughed. "Eggs it is then."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs. "Merry Christmas, boys!" she called out. John smiled and called back, "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock moaned and turned completely over on the couch.

Mrs. Hudson laughed when she saw Sherlock's position on the couch. "Here you go, boys," she called out. "I got some small things things for you two. Oh, don't even start-" she said at John's protests. "I know you didn't get anything this year, and I'm perfectly okay with that. But I wanted to get you something. Now let me go place it by your fireplace and I'll leave you be." She toddled off to the living area, against John's protests.

John shook his head. Mrs. Hudson was stubborn, that was certain. Then again, she had to be to put up with Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson had to contain her giggles as she placed her "presents" by the fireplace.

* * *

"John, what's this?"

"What's what, Sherlock?"

"This plant hanging above my head. I wasn't aware we had plants growing from the ceiling."

John poked his head out of the kitchen, where he had just finished putting his and Sherlock's breakfast on plates. He laughed when he saw the plant hanging over his head.

"That's mistletoe, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson must have put it there."

"Why would she put a plant on our ceiling?"

"Because- Sherlock, don't tell me you've deleted mistletoe."

"I know what mistletoe is, if that's what you're asking."

"No, it's not. Mistletoe is- well, why don't I just show you?" John asked himself, before heading over to Sherlock. Sherlock stiffened. "John, what-?"

Sherlock suddenly had a mouthful of John. Not that he was protesting. Oh no sir, he wasn't.

Sherlock was just beginning to open his mouth when John pulled back, slightly out of breath and grinning. "That, Sherlock," he said, "is what mistletoe is for."

"Interesting. So someone hangs it up in the hopes of getting two people to kiss? And of one catches another standing under the mistletoe, they must kiss them?"

John laughed. "More or less." He pulled Sherlock down for another quick kiss before dragging him towards the kitchen. "Come on, Sherlock," he said. "Food's getting cold."

Mrs. Hudson squealed from behind her hiding spot.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry about the shortness of this, but with the Christmas I had I'm amazed that I managed to crank this baby out at all, not even mentioning the other two stories I wrote.**_

_**Speaking of which. I wrote two other stories. I am exhausted and my brain is dead but I am proud. Even if I'm not so bug a fan of the longest one and this and the other one are far too short in my opinion. **_

_**Okay, so about my Christmas. **_

_**First of all, you have to understand that my brother and I are basically the black sheep of my dad's side of the family. No one really gives a shit about us, and they only ever even acknowledge our presence because they'll feel guilty if they don't. I've come to terms with this- I noticed how everybody ignored me by the time I was seven, and just sort of grew used to it. That doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt.**_

_**Okay, so I woke up at four yesterday morning, fell back asleep, woke up at nine and went in. I got some really nice-noise cancelling headphones from my dad, a lava lamp from my grandparents, and a new charger for my MP3 player. I immediately took the headphones and used them, because I could tell I would need them.**_

_**I started writing soon after. Sometime around two, I went to my Great-Aunt's house and we had Christmas dinner and hung out there until around eight. Which was torture. Why?**_

_**Well, for starters, my Christmas dinner consisted of mashed potatoes and mashed potatoes only. My brother and I have Celiac Disease- which means we can't eat gluten. My family knows this. They don't care. So they made a meal where the only thing I could eat was mashed potatoes. So that was nice. **_

_**And then everyone, including my dad, got drunk. I'm used to this. I honestly can't remember a family gathering where everyone didn't get drunk. I've learned to just tune everyone out and escape into my own little world. This pisses my dad off to no end. See, he's of the belief that I'm a teenage girl, so I love to socialize, because EVERYBODY know all teenage girls love to socialize *insert sarcasm here*. Ergo, if I'm not socializing, that means that something is wrong with me, and thereby him. So every five minutes he'd yell at me for not being social enough. Well, dad, I'm sorry if I'd rather be writing my own goddamn stories or texting my own friends then watch you and everyone else get pissed drunk, or go outside and walk into to tangible cloud of smoke and alcohol that makes my lungs burn. (Did I mention everyone's a smoker?) I think the worst part is that my dad's a pushy drunk, so what starts out as, "Hey, you should come be more social" becomes a rough hand on my shoulder that squeezes me and "HEYYYY, whY dOn't You bE moRe Soshuul?" after around eight beers. And then the yelling starts.**_

_**So I kind of took my new headphones, walked around the neighborhood listening to music too loudly and tried not to cry. **_

_**We finally went home after a while (my grandma didn't drink, so she drive us), and I finished writing these, tried to post them, failed, and fell asleep listening to music, then woke up with a sore back and unable t fall asleep again. Yay. **_

_**So, that was my Christmas. And it pisses me off that ff was down, not only because I couldn't post my stories but because I couldn't get any reviews. And that would have made my day a lot better.**_

_**But I need to stop complaining. I could have it worse. **_

_**Now to the news!**_

_**And this is exciting news! Later this morning, in about five hours, I am going camping. Now, mobile phone technology is a marvelous thing. Not only have I written every challenge so far on my phone, but I have responded to every review, and sent every PM from my phone. But there are some things mobile technology just can't do- namely, I can't publish these from my phone. So to do that, I need a computer with WiFi access. And one thing this place doesn't have (as far as I'm aware- I could be wrong) is WiFi. Which means I can't post.**_

_**But never fear! I have found an ingenious solution. As mentioned, mobile phone technology is an amazing thing. All I need is a little nit of signal and I can do nearly anything. So I have recruited my dear friend Dino (that is what you may call her) to post these for me. I'm going to email her these every night, Rainy's Ramble included, with instructions on how to format them, and she'll be logging into my account and posting for me. I have given her full permission to leave notes and say hi, and talk with you guys if she so desires. She's awesome, and just as funny and wacky as I am. And far sassier. **_

_**I should probably post these now, and go to bed. I need the sleep.**_

_**PLEASE leave me a review. You guys make the worst days brighter, and keep me going when I want to give up. And Donovan likes clean floors. So please. Review. Make Donovan's floor a little cleaner. **_

_**Goodnight, I love you all, and even though it isn't Christmas anymore- Merry Christmas. '**_

_**Talk to you soon.**_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**P.S. To ObservationofTrifles- SHIT SHIT I DONE FUCKED UP I put the wrong day. Expect your prompt, kittens, to be filled Day 28. And if any of you have any last-minute prompts, I'm more than happy to hear them. Thank you. **_


	26. Challenge 26: Each Other's Eyes

_Dedicated to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. It's official- I can't read Johnlock smut without listening to that damn song now. I tested it out earlier. Without it, it didn't feel right. So damn you, and thank you simultaneously. XP_

* * *

**DAY 26 CHALLENGE: Gazing into each others eyes**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

It was night, the stars were shining, and the waves were rocking the boat one Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were standing on.

John sighed with pleasure as he stared up at the stars. He and Sherlock had been on the boat for a case, but now the criminal had been caught and it was just the two of them, alone. He silently noted the constellations in his head, every star, every nebula.

Sherlock looked down at his lover. "Enjoying this?" he asked, even though he knew the answer. John looked at him and smiled. "What do you think?"

Sherlock smiled. John took his hand, and they both stared at the stars.

"John," Sherlock asked, "Why does everyone love astronomy and the stars so much?"

John looked at Sherlock, to see if he was being completely serious. He coughed. "Well, I can't speak for everyone..." he began. "But stars are... Important for most people, Sherlock. They remind us of how small and insignificant we really are." He pointed above him. "Almost every star you see up there is dead, Sherlock. They died millions of years ago. But they're so far away, we still see them like they're still alive."

Sherlock looked mildly disturbed by this. "So everything up there-"

"Well, every star. There are some other things that are still alive." He pointed above him. "See that? That's Jupiter. That's still very much around, although it's debatable whether it's alive."

Sherlock gave him a blank look.

John inwardly smacked himself. "That's right," he said. "You deleted the Solar System. Well, Jupiter is a planet-"

Another blank look.

John sighed. "Nevermind. Just- not everything in the sky is dead. But that's the beauty if it, Sherlock. It reminds us of our own fragility, and that we should make the most of the time we have."

Sherlock was silent. And then-

"Thank you."

John shifted so he was pressed up against Sherlock's side. "You're welcome."

They were silent like that for a while, just pressed up against each other, no sound except for the ocean's waves and their own breath. Then-

"Can you point out some of the constellations for me?"

John raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't care."

Sherlock was silent for a minute. "I may end up deleting them. But I want to hear you explain them first."

John smiled. Hr pointed at the first one he found. "You see that? That's Orion. Those three stars right there? That's his belt."

"Why did they name it Orion?"

Silence. "There are two versions to that story, and neither end happily."

A rustle of cloth as they shift even closer. "That's okay."

John laughed. "Thinking about it, almost none of them end happily."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand.

"Thank you."

John looked at Sherlock, shocked. He never said thank you.

And suddenly he was greeted with the sight of his lover's, his fiancée's, eyes, which were glowing under the starlight. His blue, grey and green eyes were glowing with streaks of silver and gold, and John could see their colours shifting, moving. It was as beautiful as any star, any nebula he'd ever seen.

His sense of love was so overwhelming at that moment he pulled Sherlock down to kiss him.

Sherlock certainly didn't object.

It was as sweet and slow as the rocking of the boat, and when they broke apart, Sherlock noticed John's eyes were gleaming and were the colour of the deep blue water around them. John smiled at him, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile back.

John started when they heard a moan behind them, and sighed. "He's waking up. We should probably take him to Lestrade soon."

Sherlock shook his head. "No," he said, "Let's wait a little longer."

John wasn't going to object.

As they held hands under the stars, filled with nothing but the sounds of their heartbeats and breaths and the soft rocking of the ocean, a small star was born several million light years away. It's light didn't reach them for a long time, but it shone upon the Earth for billions of years to come.

* * *

**_Rainy's Ramble: I am by the fire, and have managed to convince my relatives that I am reading._**

**_Okay, so I have to get this out. I almost vomited rainbows writing this. I am apparently capable of writing far fluffier things than I ever thought I was capable of._**

**_I apologize for how short this is, and I apologize if it is OOC. Writing fluff is hard when you're trying to keep everyone in-character, and I apologize if I didn't succeed._**

**_So guess who's a space nerd?_**

**_I'm not even joking. I may bitch a lot about being forced to watch documentaries on space and time and all that jazz as a child, but the truth is I loved every minute of it. One of the only reliable ways to get my attention is to bring up the subject of pulsars, or neutron stars, or supernovae, or nebulae, or the Hubble telescope, or String Theory, or the theoretical possibility of time-travel, or the fabric of space-time, or what shape the universe is, or black holes, or white holes, or anything space related and I will rant for AGES. I mean, it's just so interesting! One time I was sitting with my friends at lunch when our table was taken over by a bunch of mean girls (who, needless to say, weren't very intelligent), so my friends and I started talking about time travel and whether or not it was possible and it's possible consequences, and them we got carried away and started talking about Einstein's Theory of Relativity and then Stephen Hawking and the next thing we knew, we had scared them off. Fun times. One of my goals in life is to join Star Fleet._**

**_Anyhoo..._**

**_Camping is going well. I just ate some marshmallows. It makes me sad that can't post this myself, but I trust Dino and she is awesome, and therefore it isn't a problem. :) Trust me, you guys will love her._**

**_Okay, and dad, seriously? I understand you're an alcoholic, I really do. But you go and make yourself a cocktail after you e already had five beers and there's a sixth open on the table? Really? You get pissed at me whenever I don't finish whatever I'm drinking, and you abandon yours as soon as you want something different? Bit hypocritical, dad._**

**_And I honestly don't know how much he's had. The six is just an estimate. The real number is probably far higher. He's been drinking nonstop since I got here. I think he's on his third cocktail._**

**_And I've been writing in bursts, seeing as my dad has largely banned me from my phone for the duration of this trip. Which, while is bad for writing time, is good for reading time. I finally finished Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams today. It was bloody brilliant. But of course it was. It was Douglas Adams. And I laughed my ass off reading it. Of course. For those who don't know, the best way to describe that book series (even though there's only two books) is the original Sherlock Holmes stories by SACD, thrust into the seventies era, with a lot of computer science and music thrown in, and on acid. Or LSD. I'm not even joking. Come on. Time travel, ghosts, and a detective that believes in the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. And electric monks and horses and a dictionary that doesn't have the word impossible in it. In fact, everything from herring to marmalade appears to be missing._**

**_My favorite passage? Without a doubt:_**

**_"'I'm very glad you asked me that, Mrs Rawlinson. The term `holistic' refers to my conviction that what we are concerned with here is the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. I do not concern myself with such petty things as fingerprint powder, telltale pieces of pocket fluff and inane footprints. I see the solution to each problem as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole. The connections between causes and effects are often much more subtle and complex than we with our rough and ready understanding of the physical world might naturally suppose, Mrs Rawlinson._**

**_'Let me give you an example. If you go to an acupuncturist with toothache he sticks a needle instead into your thigh. Do you know why he does that, Mrs Rawlinson?_**

**_No, neither do I, Mrs Rawlinson, but we intend to find out. A pleasure talking to you, Mrs Rawlinson. Goodbye.'"_**

**_Ladies and gents, Dirk Gently._**

**_Jesus Christ, did I really just post a book review in this? I need a blog or something to post all this crap in._**

**_Ooh, new metaphor time! This is the last one *sniff* so it better be good. Hmmm... Reviews are to me what starting minor wars for fun is to Mycroft. Come on, we all knows he does it. So review. Please._**

**_'Til tomorrow! And remember, 42. The answer is always 42. Remember this, and the dolphins will be proud. As well as the white lab mice._**

**_Goodnight, or good morning,_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_P.S. Take it away, Dino! And I apologize for the length of the author's note. I'm rather bored. :P_**

**_~Hey you guys. I am dinosaurs-in-spaceships, or as Rainy here calls me, Dino! I'm not good at this whole thing with computer using thing. Rainy if the format is wrong please tell me! I'm bad at this. Anyway, I don't have much to add. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I know I did! AHHHHHHH IT WAS REALLY GOOD, THIS CHAPTER WAS REALLY GOOD. I really like this, if you couldn't tell...It's good. Heh. Okay uuuuuhhh I don't know what else to say. I feel really awkward right now so I am going to leave now and let you guys roll around on the floor or something. Have a good day/night/afternoon/whatever time!~ -DINO ^-^_**

**_~P.S. I FORGOT WHAT I WAS GOING TO ADD HERE. NEVERMIND THEN.~_**


	27. Challenge 27: On One of Their Birthdays

_Dedicated, as always, to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. _

* * *

**DAY 27 CHALLENGE: On one of their birthdays**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

John wasn't sure how he and Sherlock had ended up on that roof again.

Okay, that was a lie- he knew how. What he wasn't sure was why. He had been in a daze the entire way up, and he didn't really realize where he was or what they were about to do until they were up on the roof of Saint Bart's once more.

He began to breathe heavily.

"John?" Sherlock asked, concern in his eyes.

John backed against a wall slowly. "Just- give me a minute, Sherlock," he panted, closing his eyes.

He opened them again a few minutes later. "What," he began, "the hell made us think this was a good idea?"

"Well, it is your birthday. What you wanted was to visit all the spots that were important to us."

"Not important in this way, Sherlock!" John hissed.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "I... I never fully explained to you why I jumped, did I?"

John laughed. "Not that you didn't try. I told you to shut up, punched you, and then walked away, if I remember correctly."

Sherlock smiled a little sadly. "You're leaving out the part where you screamed at me for a good five minutes. But that covers it quite nicely."

Silence again.

"Would you... Would you like to know now?"

John rolled his head back against the wall. "Why not," he said. "I know how you did it, I know what you did when you were away." He looked back at Sherlock. "But you know what? I don't want to know how you did it anymore. I want to know why. So yes. Please do."

Sherlock sighed, and thought back to their day, before beginning his tale.

* * *

**TWELVE HOURS EARLIER**

"John."

Poke.

"John."

Poke.

"John!"

"WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, SHERLOCK?!"

John may have been an early riser, but that didn't mean he appreciated being woken by his sometimes-inconsiderate fiancée from much-needed sleep.

Sherlock looked hurt. "It's your birthday," he said, pouting. "The correct thing to do is make your lover breakfast, is it not?"

"YOU-" John began to say, and then stopped. "Wait. You made me breakfast?"

"Of course," Sherlock scoffed. "I thought it would be rather obvious due to the smell of eggs and bacon emanating from the kitchen."

"You... Can cook?" was John's only reply.

Sherlock sighed with irritation. "Yes, seeing as I just made you breakfast."

"But... Mrs. Hudson, with the soup..."

"I didn't say I could cook well. I do think I can prepare simple eggs and bacon, though, without too much trouble." He then stalked out of the room, blue robe trailing behind him.

John chuckled.

* * *

**THREE HOURS LATER**

"What are we doing again?"

"Taking me on a tour of London. All of our important spots." John smiled as he held Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock sighed as John led him around. He didn't complain too much, though. It was John's birthday.

"Remember that video you made me back when we first met? Because you didn't want to go to my birthday dinner?" John asked, smiling.

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes. In retrospect, my bluff was fairly obvious."

They were silent for a while. They both knew there was another bluff they weren't referring to.

They stopped at Angelo's for lunch. No one objected when he put a candle on the table for them, smiling the whole time.

PRESENT TIME

"So that's why," John said breathlessly, leaning back against the building. "You jumped to save us."

Sherlock shifted awkwardly, staring at his feet. "I do believe that's what I just said."

John looked down, and laughed in a dazed manner. "You left for three years, and tracked down every member of Moriarty's web," he said, "for us." He looked up again, as if he couldn't decide which way conveyed his shock better. "I can't bloody believe it."

He looked at Sherlock. "So you knew what would happen?"

Sherlock looked at John straight in the eyes. "Yes, to some degree. I didn't know Moriarty would threaten you or the others."

John walked over to Sherlock and embraced him.

He didn't care that he was in the roof where he thought he had seen Sherlock die. He didn't care that he wasn't the sort for this sort of affection usually.

All he cared about was that Sherlock had show his loyalty to him at this very spot, and he hadn't known. And he knew how much he had meant to Sherlock, even back then.

Sherlock awkwardly wrapped his arms around John. John laughed weakly at his pathetic attempt to be comforting.

"Come on," he said, pulling back and grabbing Sherlock's hand. "Let's go home."

Sherlock stopped him. Hesitatingly, he placed a kiss on John's lips. He pulled back a moment later. "Happy birthday, John."

John smiled. "Thanks, Sherlock." He placed his head on Sherlock's chest, before leading him off the roof and then back to 221B Baker Street, to home.

They never returned to the roof. There was no need to. All of its demons had died there that very night.

* * *

**_Rainy's Ramble: Gah, gah, gah. I don't like this challenge. Not one bit. Thanks to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy and HungrySherlock-Wink for their ideas. I don't like how this turned out, but hopefully it isn't too disappointing. Sorry, guys. _**

**_Anyhoo... Camping is going well. I have discovered that I am far, far too easily entertained. I discovered this because I spent an hour staring at the way the sand reacts to my fingers when I touch it. And playing with it. And- well, sand is an entertaining substance, in my defense. _**

**_*coughs awkwardly*_**

**_So, this ramble has a main topic! Aren't you proud of me? _**

**_And this topic is my stepbrother's potato cult. _**

**_You heard me right. (Or read me right.) My stepbrother has a potato cult. _**

**_And it's not even dedicated to eating potatoes. No, that is blasphemy in his cult. (Unless the potatoes were "traitors". Then it is alright.) It is dedicated to potatoes. _**

**_He has a motherfucking theme song dedicated to potatoes. To the theme of "Frosty the Snowman". And it's- you guessed it-about potatoes. I won't even list the lyrics. Mainly because I deleted them, but also because they were REALLY bad. _**

**_You can't even say the word "potato" around him. He'll give you the evil eye, and hiss, "Shhh... They have eyes everywhere." And the pun is intended. My friends and I have a joke that you can't say "potatoes" five times too quickly or else you'll summon him. _**

**_And lately it has reached creepy heights. He has an entire theology he created for them. I caught him meditating for a half an hour, saying "potatoes" over. And over. And over again. _**

**_Before this, it was chicken. He said "chicken" to everything. As in the poultry. _**

**_And he's the same age as me. (Well, technically, I'm three months older- my birthday is in June and his is in September.) But still. _**

**_And he thinks I'M the weird one for being obsessed with Sherlock and writing fanfiction about it. _**

**_So there you have it, folks. A quick glimpse into my life. Me and the potato cult have daily battles. _**

**_God. Just... Ugh. Okay, I have plea. Day 29 is coming up, which is "doing something sweet together". If you have any ideas, or prompts, or anything- please, please let me know. I am so stuck it is not even funny. Help. Please. _**

**_Review for the sake of starting minor wars due to boredom. (Like that, did you, ObservationofTrifles?) Because Mycroft does it. And I want reviews. Or I may go and cause a minor war myself. 8D_**

**_Goodnight, or good morning, wherever you are,_**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**

**_Take it away, Dino!_**

**_~I shall take it away thank you Rainy! Well About the potato cult. It really is real. I can confirm this because I am in this cult. I joined by a mistake. I wasn't paying attention and just agreed with whatever was said, really bad move because I am forever tied to this cult. DON'T JOIN THE CULT YOU GUYS DON'T JOIN IT. Also thank you to whoever said my formatting was done well! I do try my best. I hope you guys enjoy the update! -DINO ^-^ _**

**_P.S. I apologize for the late updates! I'm really slow at working with computers and I tend to yell at the computer and give up._**


	28. Challenge 28: Doing Something Ridiculous

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. *sings* D-D-D-DANCING IN THE DARK *funky dances to awesome sax music*_

* * *

**DAY 28 CHALLENGE: Doing something ridiculous together (or, kittens, as prompted by ObservationofTrifles)**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

The Great Kitten Incident of 221B started off fairly innocently.

John was just returning home from a rather uneventful day at the clinic when Mrs. Hudson rushed outside to greet him.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," he said, slightly confused.

"Oh, John!" she said. "Thank goodness you're home. Sherlock has been-"

"Oh god," John thought to himself. Out loud, he said, "What's he done now, Mrs. Hudson?"

She shook her head. "Go upstairs and you'll see." She began to walk away, before turning around and facing him. "And I want this taken care of tonight, young man," she said sternly, before entering the flat again.

John chuckled before he walked inside.

And that's when the smell hit him.

He almost gagged as he yelled, "Sherlock? Sherlock, what the hell is this?"

"Nothing!"

"Sherlock, last time I checked, a smell coming from our flat that makes me want to vomit isn't nothing!"

"It's for an experiment!"

"What experi- oh my god," John said as he stepped into 221B. His eyes almost bugged out of his skull as he took in the sight of the flat.

Which was covered with kittens, with a very distressed-looking Sherlock Holmes standing in the middle of the chaos.

"Sherlock," John said slowly, "What. The fuck. Is this."

Sherlock winced. "It's an experiment."

"Sherlock," John said, "what experiment would involve this many kittens?" He shook his head. "Why would you do this, anyway?"

Sherlock tried to navigate his way through the sea of kittens, and failed. He sighed, and slowly climbed onto the couch without squashing any kittens. "It was based off something I saw on your blog," he began.

John stared. He took a kitten that had begun to club up his leg, gently removed it, and then stared. "Where, exactly, on my blog do I mention kittens?"

Sherlock fixed John with his signature "don't-be-an-idiot" look. "You don't. A commenter did."

"Oh god. What did she say?"

"How do you know it was a wom- nevermind. She compared you to a kitten." He looked around the flat then. "I wanted to see what the similarities were. Another woman suggested a hedgehog, but I couldn't find many of those on short notice." He looked around again, frowning. "So far, I'm not seeing the similarity."

"That's because there is none, Sherlock," John sighed, trying to find a way to walk through the flat without stepping on the moving, living, mewing carpet. "How did you get all of these, anyway?"

Sherlock had begun to open his mouth when John raised his hand and stopped him. "Nevermind. I don't want to know. Just- how can we get rid of them?"

Sherlock stared blankly at John.

"Sherlock, I swear of you don't give me way to get rid of them without harming them, in five seconds, I will call Mycroft."

Sherlock's eyes widened with alarm. "You wouldn't."

"I can and I will."

"But John-"

"Five..."

"Give me a minute!"

"Four... Three..."

"I can't think with you counting!"

"Two... One!" John pulled out his phone. Sherlock groaned.

* * *

"What do you mean, we have to find someone give them to?"

Mycroft had arrived and taken away all of the kittens- except five.

"You heard me correctly, Sherlock. I think having to find homes for all five should be punishment enough."

Sherlock practically hissed at his brother. John pulled him away, glaring at him as he said, "Thanks, Mycroft. We'll be sure to find them a home."

* * *

"What the hell are we supposed to do?"

Sherlock laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, hands steepled under his chin. "I don't know."

John growled. "Well, think of something!" He took a look at the five kittens that were left- three boys, two girls, one tabby, three ginger and one black. He had to admit, they were rather cute.

Sherlock frowned. "John, I don't care what happens to them so long as they go away."

John scowled. "You brought them in, Sherlock. You make them go away."

Sherlock flopped over on the couch while John brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose in frustration. He could already tell he would have a massive migraine by the time this was over.

* * *

As it turned out, they weren't that hard to get rid of.

John and Sherlock occasionally received visitors for their cases. The next time a bunch of little girls came over, begging for Sherlock to help find their lost cat, he gave them the kittens. The cat had died weeks ago, and their mother had lied to them. He had been about to tell them so when he caught sight of John's death glare. So, the kittens had gone with them.

Later that day, John was laying next to Sherlock on the couch when Sherlock spoke up. "Maybe the woman on your blog had a point," he said.

John looked at him, eyebrow quirked. "What?" he asked, half amused, half bewildered.

"I noticed some things. You have similar expressions of wonder."

The look John was giving Sherlock caused him to quickly shut up, mouth clamping closed.

"That's better," John sighed as he leaned into Sherlock's cheat, smiling.

* * *

_**Rainy's Ramble: Hungrysherlock-wink has told me to stop saying my stories suck in a very nice review. So I told her I would. **_

_**However, I do reserve the right to apologize if I feel the characters may have been OOC. If they were- sorry about that, guys. I tried. **_

_**I hope you liked this, ObservationofTrifles. You're the best. ^~^**_

_**I don't really have much of a ramble today, more of a funny story and an update on camping. **_

_**Update on camping: sand. Motherfucking sand. Everywhere. It is on me and I am irritated by it. My cousins and my brother (my full, not one of my two stepbrothers and one half-brother) spent over an hour spilling water onto sand and then running the resulting mixture through our fingers. And sculpting with it. And making mountains with it. Did I mention I'm bored? **_

_**Okay, funny story time! **_

_**So, there's this couple at our camp who are super-homophobic. As in, I-don't-want-to-be-within-ten-miles-of-them homophobic, but am being forced to share a campsite with them. I discovered when we first arrived here that, much to my displeasure, they have two English bulldogs. That's not what displeased me though- what displeased me is that these two homophobic, bigoted IDIOTS had the NERVE to name them Watson and Holmes. The dogs are sweet, but their owners piss me off. It pisses me off much in the same way Anderson cosplaying as Kirk in one of the earlier stories pissed off the lovely Mervoparkite- it's just wrong. **_

_**Anyways, I took a rather sick pleasure today as I was watching them and saw Watson mount Holmes. As in, mount. As in, get it on. I cackled rather evilly as the lady tried to break them apart and failed. I whispered, "Johnlock forever," into the wind as the two dogs made very public love. **_

_**So, yeah. Also, wait! I have four prompts for tomorrow- a zoo, from Jo-Tan Uzamaki, a theme park/tunnel of love from BritishSweden, an unconventional sweet (aka sweet in Sherlock's twisted mind) from Mervoparkite and Sherlock and John reading The Hobbit together from Star Trekker 13. Jesus Christ, you guys. I have no idea which to choose. I ws originally going to combine them all, but I have no idea how and am now really confused. So rest assured- I will pick one. Or two. Maybe three. But the ones that don't get picked- surprise! I'll make sure to turn it into its own one-shot, just for you. Because these are all awesome prompts which deserve attention.**_  
_**Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. **_

_**Please review for the sake of minor wars out of boredom on Mycroft's part. And my own minor wars with the potato cult. And my happiness. Because my happiness depends on your reviews. Which reminds me- thank you, NZ Tiger Lilly, for reviewing again! They always make my day, and I'm glad you enjoy the story so much. And to guest reviewer MGKaller- why thank you. I'm glad you find my stories to be awesome possum. :P and to guest reviewer Rainbows- yeah, I have no idea what the hell this is either. A one-shot collection? An out-of-chronological-order story? *scratches head* But I'm glad you enjoy every word! Even when I use the wrong one. Like fucking "coitus". In fucking chapter four. Ugh. I'm still smashing my head into the wall every time I think about that. What the actual fuck was I thinking? **_

_**Goodnight, or good morning, **_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**Take it away, Dino!**_

_**~Ah hello again everyone! That was another beautiful update by the lovely Rainy! BritishSweden, yeah you, you are very welcome! I love updating for you guys, I feel honored to do so. :3 Jo-Tan Uzumaki, our pain is very real, I'm glad you understand. Little tibbit about my life, I got really tired yesterday and allowed my cousin to draw all over my face with...I have no idea what it was but it was a pain to get off. It's still kinda there. All I know is that it was some sort of make-up. Yeah, my life, well that's enough about me. Goodbye you guys! It's a pleasure to update for you! -DINO ^-^ **_


	29. Chapter 29: Doing Something Sweet

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. That sounds like an interesting sermon. JUNIOR MIINNNNTTTSSSS_

* * *

**DAY 29 CHALLENGE: Doing something sweet together **

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

"Sweet" did not fit in with the two men at 221B Baker Street.

"Perfect"? Perhaps. "Strange"? Absolutely. "Adorable"? That one was more likely to get you a death glare from one or both of the flat's inhabitants.

But "sweet"? Sherlock Holmes and John Watson did not do "sweet".

Sure, there were the occasional kisses in public that earned them "d'awwwww"s from onlookers. Or the occasional hand-holding that caused nearby women to sigh with longing. And every now and then they would hug. But these reactions all quickly went away when the discovery was made of what precipitated the showings of affection was made- usually Sherlock making a clever deduction over a dead body. Sometimes John would notice something that Sherlock never would have thought to because he had deemed it "unimportant", and Sherlock would he so surprised that he would lean over and kiss John to show his pleasure. But this was done over a dead body. Which did not usually elicit the same warm and cuddly response in people as a simple kiss would.

No, those two did not do "sweet".

* * *

They did, however, do cases.

And this one was certainly interesting, to say the least.

A man (late thirties, estranged ex-wife, single, no children) had been found in the lion pit of the London Zoo early one Saturday morning. The NSY arrived, took a look, took another look, took a few more looks without finding anything, before sighing, giving it up as a bad job, and calling Sherlock.

Who had been enjoying his sleep, thank you very much.

"What?" he growled into his phone. John was already up and alert, looking with curiosity at the proceedings. "What on Earth could you possibly want?"

Lestrade sighed on the other line. "There's a body-"

"Of course there's a body, you wouldn't call me up for tea, would you? Don't answer that." John couldn't stifle a giggle as he watched Sherlock take his morning grumpiness out on Lestrade. "Now, where is it, and what makes it so important you had to wake me up?"

Lestrade began to answer when Sherlock cut him off again. "If it's any less than a eight," he growled, "You will regret waking me up."

Lestrade sighed on the other end. He had long ago stopped being scared of Sherlock's threats. "Man found in a lion pit at the zoo. No enemies we know of, nothing was stolen, and he doesn't work here but was dumped sometime last night."

Sherlock scowled into his phone. Damn, that was a eight. "Give me an hour," he growled, before hanging up and burying himself back under the covers.

* * *

Sherlock was still grumpy an hour and a half later, when they reached the crime scene (traffic had been horrible, and their cab driver wasn't the best), but his mood was still better than it had been when he had been woken earlier.

He brushed past Sally Donovan and her usual cries of "freak", and went straight to Lestrade, John following close behind.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "You're usually much happier to see a dead body."

Sherlock practically growled at him. "Nevermind that, where is it?"

Lestrade pointed down into the lion pit. "Down there."

The sight that awaited Sherlock and John was grisly enough to make a weaker man lose the contents of his stomach. As it was, John's stomach gave an uncomfortable flip.

It gave an even more uncomfortable jolt of horror when he saw Sherlock, his fiancée, his love, jump right into the middle of the lion pit.

"Sherlock!" he yelped, horrified. "What the bloody fuck are you doing?"

"Investigating!"

"Sherlock," John cried with barely concealed horror, "the lions are still down there!"

And that they were. They were currently staring at the Consulting Detective with more curiousity than hunger, but John didn't know how long that would last.

Sherlock looked around himself. "John, I'll be fine," he huffed, leaning over the body.

Which was the wrong move.

Sherlock barely had time to react before he felt two strong arms wrap around him, haul him out of the pit, and he saw two rather ferocious-looking lions pounce right where he had been a moment ago.

He stared down. "Maybe I wouldn't have been fine."

He turned and looked at John. "You saved me. Again." Simple statement of fact.

John coughed awkwardly. "Well, that's my job, isn't it? Keeping you and your stupid arse out of too much trou- oomph!" John let out an undignified cry as Sherlock placed his soft lips on his own.

He smiled as he felt Sherlock's lips match movements with his own. He could taste the toast he had that morning, as well as the tea he had drunk, and his typical taste. He moaned slightly as he raised his hand up to tangle in Sherlock's dark curls.

"A-HEM! OI! Dead body, right beneath you!" Lestrade looked half-irritated, half-amused.

The two men continued kissing. A girl rookie sighed as she stared at them, going doe-eyed. A few men did the same.

"We are in public, you two, and I swear-"

John broke away from Sherlock at that moment, sighing. "Well, that's one way to say thank you," he chuckled.

Sherlock smiled, and grabbed John's hand, and began to walk away before he rounded on Lestrade.

"It was the man in charge of feeding the lions. He was high, and wanted to mug him, but killed him accidently, forgot about the money, and dumped him in here." He turned around, ignoring Lestrade's cries of protest, and led John away from the crime scene.

No, sir, John and Sherlock did not do sweet.

* * *

_**Rainy's Ramble: Well, this may have not been particularly funny, or cute, but you know what? It sure as shit ain't sad. **_

_**Sorry, this is my third time watching Ocean's 13 in three days and it's starting to get to me. Why have I seen it so may times? Because it was that or National Treasure. And I have seen that movie so many goddamn times it isn't even funny. So no. Ocean's 13 it is. **_

_**I'm sorry this is up a day late. Dino experienced technical difficulties and now can no longer post, so I asked Hungrysherlock-wink to post for me. Say hello! **_

_**Thanks to mervoparkite for the "untraditional sweet" suggestion, and the zoo idea from Jo-Tan Uzamaki. I will be turning the unused prompts into one-shots. Because, you know, they're awesome prompts. Whose stories deserve to be told. **_

_**I have actually made a list of prompts. And I think I lost a few. *hits head on wall* So, I'm going to post it to my profile tomorrow, and if you gave me a prompt and don't see it up there... Please let me know. I should e started keeping track of these a long time ago. x-x**_

_**Update on camping! JESUS CHRIST MORE MOTHERFUCKING SAND. The wind was blowing at twenty fucking miles per hour today and it fucking got fucking sand everywhere and it fucking pissed me off. I'm sure you can tell by the amount of f-bombs I dropped in that single paragraph. Seriously, though. I think it is permanently embedded in my scalp. I think I am in sand hell. **_

_**The great news is though, I'm leaving tomorrow! *does happy dance* I AM LEAVING THIS HELLHOLE BEHIND YAYYYYYYYY**_

_**So, one more challenge left. Jesus. I can't... This amazes me. I have written a story, every day, for the past twenty-eight (now twenty-nine) days. And you know what? It has been fucking worth it. Every single damn stress filled moment, every misplaced word, every ridiculously long ramble. I love you all, and I will miss you so much. **_

_**Today's challenge? Getting married. This should be fun. **_

_**Oh, and someone has raised the question of my plans regarding writing once this is over. Well, I am going to take a quick break (and by quick I mean quick- no three year hiatuses for me), and give my creative mind and my thumbs some time to recuperate. Which means I'll probably last two or three days. Week, tops. I'm going to get bored, and we all know it. So then I'll start filling some prompts you guys left me. And then, after two or three of this have been filled, I'll start one of the multi-chapters I need to start. And update some of my other works, which I have been neglecting. So I shall continue to keep you entertained. XD Not on a daily basis, but at least once a week. More than likely more. **_

_**Speaking of daily basis... **_

_**I might do another one of these, later next year. For my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy's birthday, which is in July. And the pairing would be Mystrade. I don't know how many of you ship that, but she and I both ship it hardcore. So, if you're interested in that... You're welcome to read. Expect it in July. :)**_

_**So, yeah. Thank you so much, each and every one of you. Your support blows me away, every day. You have taken an insecure, self-loathing girl and managed to convince her her writing might actually be considered "good". You inspired me to do well on my APUSH test, I have met many new friends in the process of writing this, and have given me the courage to show my mom this. And what I've been up to. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart. **_

_**Please review. Each one is a minor war Mycroft can play with from afar, rather like a board game. He does so love those. Please, review. Please. **_

_**I send my best (regards from hell)!**_

_**Goodnight, or good morning, **_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**P.S. I am still taking prompts. No longer for this fic, but for others. It could be a one-shot idea, an idea for a multi-chapter, hell- you could give me a song and tell me to write a story about it and I will. Anything works. Please. I love prompts. :)**_

_**Take it away, Hungrysherlock-wink!**_

_**-Hey guys, hungrysherlock here. Weird pen name, I know, I was desperate and everything was taken. You guys should go review this girl, she is so brilliant it is astonishing. I like adjectives. Anyhooooooo, I love this chapter. Yeah, that's all I guess. All my love to you guys. Dream of johnlock kissing in the zoo, I know I will ;) Oh and I hope my formatting is not too horrible, I tried...  
**_


	30. Challenge 30: Getting Married

_Dedicated, as always, to my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Blasting loud music is the best thing ever. You know. Aside from Johnlock porn. ;)_

* * *

**DAY 30 CHALLENGE: Getting married**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!**

* * *

The morning sun shone on the two still bodies who lay under the same sheets at 221B Baker Street.

The day was brisk and cool, the air filled with a scent of hope and the promise of more to come. In short, the perfect day for a wedding.

Sherlock stirred slowly, moving his long arms so as to stretch them. John, who was already half-awake, smiled. "Morning, love," he murmured. Sherlock smiled sleepily and put his curly head on top of John's chest. John smiled as he began to run his fingers through his lover's dark curls, letting his fingers untangle a few. Sherlock let out a low rumbling sound of pleasure from deep within his chest.

"We're getting married today," John said.

"Mmmmmm," was Sherlock's sleepy reply, as he shifted his body so it could be closer to John's.

John laughed gently, enjoying the sunlight as it played across his field of vision and danced across Sherlock's skin. "I think that means we should get up soon," he said, still running his hands through Sherlock's sleep-mussed curls.

Sherlock sighed. "We can wait a few more minutes," he said, warm breath curling across John's chest.

John smiled. "Okay," he said. "But no more than five."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was unbelievably, ridiculously excited.

Had she been a younger woman with a working hip, she may have jumped in the air for joy- maybe even danced. As it was, she could barely contain her energy as she bounded (well, as much as an old woman with a bad hip could bound) up the stairs of 221B.

Her boys were getting married.

She'd been ecstatic when she'd heard the news. She knew they would eventually end up together, right from the beginning, and when they finally did she had almost climbed the walls from sheer joy. When she found out about their engagement, she had cried tears of joy and almost asphyxiated them both with the crushing force of her hug.

"Get up, boys! Today you're getting married!" she hollered before she reached the final step. As she stepped into their living area, she heard a groan that could only have been Sherlock's and John's cry of, "I promised him five more minutes, Mrs. Hudson! You know how he is in the mornings."

She tutted before walking straight into their room.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, alarmed. He shot straight up, nearly knocking John off the bed.

She laughed. "That's more like it," she said. As she left the room, she looked behind her and called, "I want you both ready in half an hour, no exceptions!"

She giggled as she walked back down the stairs. Oh, her boys.

* * *

The wedding-planning process had almost entirely excluded John and Sherlock.

Sure, their opinions were asked before final decisions were made. They chose the date of their wedding, as well as the venue.

But the rest had almost exclusively been planned by Mrs. Hudson, Harry Watson, Mummy Holmes, and Molly Hooper.

The meetings of which were quite interesting.

"So," Harry Watson began, "these two idiots are getting married."

No alcoholic beverages were had at these meetings. John had been very emphatic in that point when he agreed to let the girls plan the wedding. Everyone knew about Harry's history with alcohol, and were more than happy to agree.

"It would appear so," Mummy Holmes said dryly, arranging herself more comfortably in her seat.

An awkward silence sat in the room for a few minutes, interrupted only by sips of tea and compliments for Mrs. Hudson's cooking.

After a few minutes, Harry had had enough. "Well? Are we just going to sit here, staring awkwardly at each other or are we actually going to plan a wedding?"

"Oh, I don't know, I was rather enjoying the staring awkwardly part," Mummy Holmes deadpanned while setting down her tea. "But, if you insist..."

"Oh, enough you two," Mrs. Hudson scolded. "Now, we were supposed to discuss the decorations today, weren't we?"

"Yes, I believe we were," Mummy Holmes said. "Their venue is in that ridiculous part of the country. I offered the estate, but no, Sherlock had to turn it down." She shook her head, as if the very notion that anyone would not want to have a wedding at the Holmes estate was unbelievable.

Molly stirred her tea.

"Well, I was thinking flowers," Mrs. Hudson said. "Maybe-"

And the discussion went on for a while, and it didn't involve Molly too much. Until-

"Molly, dear, what do you think?"

Molly choked a little on her tea. She hadn't expected to be asked for her opinion. She waved her hand, brushing aside the concerned looks they were giving her. "Fine, I'm fine," she coughed, gasping for air.

A few minutes later, when she has regained control of her airways, she spoke. "I think lilies sound lovely," she said sheepishly.

Harry looked at her concernedly. "Molly, you've got to speak up. You're a part of this too. You can't just remain quiet."

Mummy Holmes looked over at Molly. "I agree with Ms. Watson here," she said.

Molly looked around sheepishly. "I don't know, you've all just got such great ideas and I don't know-"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Hudson cried. "I'm sure your ideas are great."

Molly looked around. Shyly, she began, "Well, I was thinking maybe for the cake..."

The meeting then dissolved within a half an hour into a giggle-fest, with each of the women recounting stories of their own personal encounters with John and Sherlock.

"When Sherlock was a boy," Mummy Holmes began, "He was always harassing Mycroft."

"Well, that's no surprise," Mrs. Hudson said with a chuckle. She'd seen the boys sibling rivalry too many times to not assume such.

"One day, I walked in," Mummy Holmes continued, "and I found him on the floor, with markers in his hand. This was never good, especially with Sherlock, so I walled in and found Mycroft lying on the floor next to him." She had to stifle a laugh. "He'd written chemical equations all over his face!"

"No," Molly gasped, while she and everyone else burst out laughing.

"Needless to say, Mycroft wasn't very pleased when he woke up!"

More laughter and giggles.

"When John was a boy," Harry began, "He used to always play in the mud."

Mrs. Hudson stifled a laugh. She could already tell this would be good.

"So one day," she said, "I come home from school to find that he's somehow managed to track mud all through the house. Not just on the floors, mind you- in the doors, in the walls, everywhere." She burst into laughter. "I think he even got it on the ceiling, in a few places."She laughed, and wiped a few tears of mirth off her face. "No, and the best part? He comes running out of his room, screaming he's a mud monster and starts flinging even more mud everywhere. Mum was not pleased."

She rounded on Mrs. Hudson then. "So how often do these two shag?" she asked, nonchalantly. Molly choked into her cup of tea.

It was then Sherlock and John returned from their latest crime scene. "Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock growled, "Please do not answer that."

John looked around the room with a rising sense of dull horror. "Oh god," he said, "You've been talking about us, haven't you?"

He was answered by the laughter that came from within the room.

"Oh, god," he moaned.

Sherlock dragged him upstairs at that minute. "You are supposed to be planning," he said, before rounding the corner to go up the stairs.

Silence fell for a minute.

"More often than you'd think," Mrs. Hudson giggled, causing the party to burst into laughter once again.

* * *

Sherlock was at the place where the wedding was to he held and was unhappy.

Well, that wasn't true. He was ridiculously happy. He was about to marry the only man he ever had, and ever would, love. Who wouldn't be happy? He was nervous, sure, but that was to expected.

What he didn't understand was why it couldn't just be a small affair. And by small he meant him and John, and perhaps Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "this is small wedding. And put your suit on."

Sherlock growled as he fixed his suit jacket. "Did the tie have to be purple? And really, this is small?"

"Compared to Mummy's original suggestion which involved inviting half of the important families in the UK, yes, I would say this is small. And stop complaining."

Sherlock sighed and nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

* * *

A few rooms over, John Watson was worrying as well.

"Having second thoughts?" asked Lestrade, eyeing the man as he paced the length of the room.

"What? No!" John whirled around to face the Detective Inspector. "Never."

"Nervous?" Lestrade asked, smirking.

"What do you think?" John asked, before finally sitting down in a chair. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get married!" John looked up from his hands. "You were married, right?"

Lestrade laughed, a little bitterly. "Yeah, was, past tense. The wedding... I don't remember all that much. Sorry. Actually, I don't remember the marriage all that much. It wasn't very happy."

John groaned, putting his face back in his hands. "Some help you are."

Lestrade grinned. "My pleasure."

A traditional song came from the other room.

"Oh god," John whispered. "It's starting."

"Hey!" Lestrade cried. "Don't become the fainting bride! Look, you'll be fine." He looked John in the eye. "Hey, you remember when Sherlock dragged you to that first crime scene? The one with the pink lady?"

John nodded. How could he forget?

"John, the betting pools for how long it would take for you two to get together started that night. You two- god, this sounds stupid, but I'll say it anyways- were meant to be together." He slapped the man on the shoulder and practically shoved him out the door.

"Now, go and marry that man."

* * *

Sherlock truly did look devastating when he was dressed up completely, John thought.

Sure, he looked uncomfortable. Sure, John felt the same discomfort.

But the suit showed off his body in all the right places, and the purple tie almost made John chuckle. He'd been the one who decided the tie colours, and he'd chosen purple as a reference to Sherlock's notorious purple shirt at home.

But then they saw each other, looked each other in the eyes, and any doubt, any trace of nervousness, any discomfort they had vanished in that very second. John felt like he could swim forever in the vast, oceanous, nebulous depth of Sherlock's eyes. And Sherlock? He melted at the sight of John's deep blue eyes. Melted. He felt every last piece of tension melt away, and for a moment he felt as if he could float away. But John's eyes kept him grounded. Like they always did.

Mycroft cleared his throat. (Sherlock hadn't wanted a religious figure, so Mycroft had volunteered to wed the two.) "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today..."

* * *

In the spots behind John and Sherlock stood Mrs. Hudson, Mummy Holmes, Molly Hooper, Harry Watson, and Gregory Lestrade.

Gregory Lestrade was the best man, Harry Watson was the Maid of Honour, and the remaining women were bridesmaids (even though there was no bride).

As John and Sherlock pledged their undying love to one another, not a single dry eye was to be found among them.

* * *

"... 'Til death do us part," Sherlock whispered.

"I now pronounce you husband and husband."

Mycroft surreptitiously wiped the corner of his eyes. Mycroft Holmes was not crying, no, Mycroft Holmes did not cry.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"You may now kiss your husband."

Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. Slowly, ever so slowly, John took a step forward and raised his head, never taking his eyes off of Sherlock's. Sherlock lowered his head, and the kiss they then shared was so passionate, so fiery, so loving that it moved the few people who weren't already in tears, to tears.

Sherlock suddenly shot up, breaking the spell. "This is the part where the after party begins, isn't it?" He raised an eyebrow. "Then leave. All of you."

John couldn't help it. He started laughing.

* * *

The after-party started without a hitch.

The cake was cut (Sherlock politely ate his portion, as did John), presents were given (Sherlock got bored and started deducing who'd given them and what they were, much to John's dismay), and the first dance was held.

"So," Sherlock whispered into John's ear, sending goosebumps across the man's neck, "How does it feel to be John Hamish Watson-Holmes?"

John smiled. He whispered into Sherlock's ear, "I don't know. How does it feel to be Sherlock Holmes-Watson?"

Sherlock screwed his mouth in distaste. "I think Sherlock Watson-Holmes works better."

John laughed gently. "Sherlock Watson-Holmes it is then," he said, smiling.

Sherlock hummed as he and John continued to dance, his own personal tune that was meant only for the two of them.

* * *

Later, after the two men had left so they could go on their honeymoon (which was only going to last a few days- Sherlock and John could only to so long without murders, after all), and the guests had departed, Mycroft, Mummy Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, and Harry Watson stayed behind.

Mrs. Hudson was still crying, but smiling like she hadn't smiled in a long time.

Harry Watson was staring at the sky. "I don't believe in wishing," she yelled, "but I hope those two idiots have the best goddamn marriage this planet has ever seen."

Mummy Holmes was quietly reflecting on all the times shed worried that Sherlock would never find someone who understood him, someone to love, and found herself relieved that he had found someone.

Mycroft was thinking about a diplomatic crisis he needed to deal with. Somewhere, in the back of his brain. At the front and center of his mind was Sherlock and John. He smiled, betraying one small moment to sentimentality. (Those tears earlier didn't count. Why? Because goddammit, he hadn't been crying.)

The party stood and thought about the couple that had been wedded that night, and were filled with hope for their future.

* * *

Sherlock smiled at the sleeping man whose head was on his shoulder. John always had fallen asleep easily in planes.

He stared out the window, looking out into the cloudless and starry night.

"Thank you," he whispered.

**Fin.**

* * *

**_Rainy's Ramble: Please excuse me while I go cry for a few minutes. _**

**_So. That was the last challenge. I hope you liked it. I'm going to miss these challenges. A lot._**

**_I... I don't know what to say. Thank you. All of you._**

**_I'm out of the sand, and am now mostly sand-free. Thank god. I was losing it. _**

**_I am now at my Uncle's house, with my two cousins, brother, father, and aunt. In a few days I am once again heading home. _**

**_I'm sorry, it's hard to be funny when I'm so goddamn melancholy about this damn thing ending. _**

**_Please review. For the sake of minor wars and all that is good in the world. Thank you, guest reviewer and NZ Tigerlilly for reviewing. You make my day brighter. _**

**_I love you all. _**

**_Goodbye, readers. _**

**_Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams_**  
**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_P.S. I said this would be the last challenge, not the last chapter. There's going to be a bonus chapter tomorrow. Surprise! :D See you then._**


	31. BONUS CHAPTER: A Johnlock New Year

_You guys seriously didn't think I would leave you like that, did you? I'm not that mean. I did try to warn you. I didn't say anywhere that this would end when the challenges were over. Still... Thank you. _

_This one is dedicated to you. Each and every single one of you. Every reviewer, every guest reviewer, every favoriter, every follower, every person who doesn't have an account here but reads this anyways, every person who glanced at this once and decided it wasn't their thing- if you're reading this, this is for you. I wrote this with my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy in mind, but it has become so much more than a Christmas present. It's returned me to life. It's given me more happiness and self-confidence than I've ever had in my short existence. Thank you. As I said, this is for you. _

_Enjoy._

* * *

**THEIR FIRST NEW YEARS (as a married couple)**

* * *

The New Scotland Yard New Year's Party was not going well.

Well, in honesty, it was going well- amazingly, some would say. There was plenty to drink and eat and many things to do, and many people were enjoying themselves.

John and Sherlock Watson-Holmes, however, were not.

"Why are we here again?" Sherlock growled, looking moodily from the corner he and John were currently hiding in.

John sighed. "Because, Sherlock," he explained patiently, "We were invited. We had nothing else going on. It's rude to turn down invitations if you have nothing else going on."

Sherlock scowled. "We could have made something up."

John sighed. "No, Sherlock, we are not going to make something up. Everyone knows that trick of yours, anyway."

They stared at the partygoers and their festivities for a few more minutes, Sherlock moodily, John pensively.

After a few minutes Sherlock spoke up. "Who chose the music? It's positively atrocious."

John laughed. "Probably someone they hired. And it's what most people listen to these days." He frowned. "I can't say I'm much of a fan either, though, to be honest."

Sherlock grabbed John by the arm. "Let's leave then," he said, desperate.

John shook him off. "No, Sherlock," he sighed. "We have to at least stay until midnight."

Sherlock looked at the clock. "But that's an hour away!" he said, almost whining.

John laughed. "Yes,and it'll be over before you know it." He pulled Sherlock down for a quick kiss. "I'm going to go get some punch. Try not to get into too much trouble. I'll be right back." Smiling, he turned around and walked away.

Sherlock scowled and sunk further into his corner.

* * *

As it turned out, John was held up at the punch bowl.

"Hello," purred a slightly drunk rookie as she almost slunk (how was that even possible?) across the table towards John.

"Er, hello," he said, suddenly hurrying his efforts to get punch.

"You look lonely," she slurred. Scratch that. She was very drunk.

"Er, well, you see-" John had just been just about to show her his wedding ring, and explain to her, very kindly, that no, he was taken, when suddenly Sherlock appeared.

Growling, he took hold of John's arm and pulled him back, almost causing John to spill the punch all over himself and his husband. "He's taken," he growled, and then pulled John down for a kiss.

The rookie shame-facedly backed away.

John looked at Sherlock. "That was unnecessary," he said, but he was grinning.

"Really?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Yes, really. I had it handled."

"John, she was ten seconds away from jumping on you."

Lestrade chose that minute to interrupt their playful bickering.

"Hey, you two! Having fun?"

Sherlock was about to open his mouth to speak when John elbowed him. "Yes," John answered, smiling.

Lestrade laughed, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder, much to the man's displeasure. "Good," he said, winking. "Now, just because you two are newlyweds and this is a party-"

John choked. Sherlock looked mildly horrified. "No, Lestrade!" he said. "Why would you even-"

Lestrade laughed again. "I'm just joking." He looked at them both again. "Seriously, though-"

"Okay, message received," John said. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm. "Come on, Sherlock, let's go dance."

* * *

"How, exactly, does one dance to this?"

John sighed. "I'm not sure it counts as dancing," he admitted. "But we aren't going to dance. That was just an excuse to get us out of there."

"So you admit you don't want to be here," Sherlock said, smirking.

John sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't rather be somewhere else," he said. He looked at Sherlock's face, and cut him off before he could say anything. "But, we made a commitment and we are staying here."

Sherlock scowled.

* * *

Bored.

So terribly, dreadfully, bored.

And all those people! Sherlock's brain felt as if it was about to explode. His nerves were tingling, random parts of his body seizing up as he dealt with the onslaught of stimuli.

In short, he was acting like an over-caffeinated squirrel in a room full of cats.

"Relax, Sherlock," John said. "No one's going to hurt you."

Sherlock just shifted uncomfortably again.

John grabbed his husband's hand and nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. "Look, Sherlock," he said calmly. "It's just me. We've only got fifteen minutes left, yeah? You can last until then."

He turned around, only to face Sherlock again. Sighing, he handed him his drink. "Here," he said, "try this."

Sherlock looked affronted. "No!"

John put his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. "You need to relax somehow, Sherlock. If you keep clenching your legs like that you'll end up with cramps."

Sherlock scowled. "I am not drinking alcohol to help with that."

John sighed. "Maybe we can take a walk," he muttered, almost to himself.

Sherlock jumped at this opportunity. He grabbed John's arm and led him out of the building, against the doctor's protests.

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"Walking, John! I'm taking a walk!" His jumpy and hyperactive eyes slid everywhere, taking in every single nauseating detail.

John swore to himself he would make something up for them to do next year, if only it meant he wouldn't have to take Sherlock to another one of these parties.

* * *

Sherlock visibly relaxed as he and John stepped out into the cool night air.

He breathed an audible sigh of relief as he let go of his bruising grip on John's arm.

John rubbed his arm as he looked sideways at the detective. Sherlock looked sheepish.

John sighed. Sherlock hadn't apologized, but he knew he was thinking it. "It's fine. I know how you are about these things. I'm just glad you've calmed down."

Sherlock nodded, inhaling the cold air. He exhaled, leaving behind a puff of steam.

John checked his watch. "Less than five minutes," he said.

Sherlock smiled. "Good. Then we can leave."

John laughed. "At this rate, I don't think we're going back in."

Sherlock smiled before sliding onto the ground next to the building. "Good," he muttered.

John kneeled down next to him. "So," he said, "Some good things happened this year."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "'Some good things'? John, if that's how you're going to refer to our marriage-"

"Oh, shut it, you git," John said, laughing. He ruffled his husband's hair fondly. "Not all of us can be so well-spoken all the time." He paused, trying to find the right words. Failing, he sighed and leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For everything."

Silence.

They could hear the countdown begin inside.

"Thirty seconds, John."

"I know, Sherlock."

Silence again.

At fifteen, Sherlock stood up, taking John with him. He swiftly walked them over to the place that had the highest likelihood of being able to view fireworks. He turned to John so that the man was facing him, both staring into each other's eyes.

_Nine._

John licked his lips nervously.

_Eight. _

Sherlock smiled, one of his full, bright, Earth-shattering smiles that was just for John.

_Seven. _

John smiled back, eyes twinkling with excitement and mirth.

_Six._

Sherlock put his finger under John's chin.

_Five._

John looked up, so that his face was level with Sherlock's.

_Four._

Sherlock began to slowly, ever so slowly, lower his head.

_Three._

John stood up a little so he could reach Sherlock better.

_Two._

They were so close they could feel each other's breath bounce off of their skin and into the night air.

_One._

They reached down for a deep, passionate kiss as fireworks went off behind them.

Had there been any onlookers, they would have sighed with longing. Because these two men loved each other. It was obvious, from the way the shorter man tangled his hands into the hair of taller one, or how the one in the dark coat wrapped his arms around his lover's waist as they kissed as if they were the only ones in the world.

John pulled away first, the taste of mint still on his tongue. "Happy New Years, Sherlock Watson-Holmes," he said, smiling.

Sherlock looked down, looked with his vast and never-ending eyes twinkling down at his lover, his John, his doctor, the only person he had ever loved and ever would love.

"Happy New Years, John Hamish Watson-Holmes," he said, smiling.

Their foreheads touched, and the two reveled in the other's presence under the starlight and bright lights of the fireworks.

It was a new year, with new beginnings. But their love was everlasting, and they knew they could face whatever happened as long as the other was by their side.

They walked away, holding hands, into the city they loved and called home, stars raining down on them.

**Fin.**

* * *

_**Rainy's Ramble: Okay, so I have a lot to ramble about and not a lot of time. **_

_**First off: sorry this isn't long. I had a specific request for this to be long, but when it boiled down to it, I got sick today, was fairly sad for most of it, hungry (my dad forgot to get food we could eat), and I just didn't have time. I hope this is still acceptable, though. I tried, you guys, I tried. **_

_**Second- I shall not bore you with the details of my crappy New Year's. But I shall regale you with an entertaining tale of what happens when my relatives get completely drunk. **_

_**See, when they are half-drunk, they are rude and irritable. Fully drunk, however, they turn into the most random, stupid group of people I have ever met or known. **_

_**Here is a five-minute excerpt from my life, after I returned from a walk to clear my mind. **_

_**Me: *goes into kitchen to get soda***_  
_**Aunt: HeEeeyY! You didn't spIIike thAat, diId yoU?**_  
_**Me: *looks at numerous liquor bottles next to the coke bottles* Uh, no. **_  
_**Random Woman I've Known Since Birth But Whose Name I Can Never Remember: HeEEeyyY! DiId yoU SpiKe thAt?**_  
_**Me: No. **_  
_**Aunt: YouU Can iF yoU WAnt!**_  
_**Random Woman: No, she caaAn't! WaiT. *looks at me* HoW oLd aRe yooU?**_  
_**Me: Uh, fifteen. **_  
_**Random Woman: NevErmInd, ShE's old enOugh. **_  
_**Me: *coughs awkardly and tries to finish soda quickly* *laughs awkwardly* Uh, no thank you. **_  
_**Random Aunt: *walks in* HEyyY, dId yOu spiKe thaT? **_  
_**Me: You're the third person that's asked me that. **_  
_***aunt and random woman burst into giggles and hug each other* **_  
_**Random Aunt: *regains some speech* Your aunt here is trying to get everyone to drink.**_  
_**Aunt: nO, I'm nOt!**_  
_**Random Woman: *sees me awkwardly standing there* You're toO cuTe. **_  
_**Me: Uh, thanks?**_  
_**Aunt: *still hugging random woman* SeE hoW much FUUNNNN it Is beIng DrUnk?**_  
_***dad's cousin walks in* *looks panicked***_  
_**Dad's Cousin: You did not just hear that. **_  
_***all women except for me burst into drunken giggles***_  
_***dad walks in***_  
_**Dad: Did you spike that?**_  
_**Me: *thinks, "Jesus Christ, NO!"* No, dad. **_  
_**Random Aunt: Her aunt here though has been trying to get her to. **_  
_***dad rounds on aunt***_  
_**Aunt: No, I diDn't! *waves hands in Star Wars reference* I did not say that. *giggles* These are not the droids you're looking for. *falls over laughing***_  
_**Me: *flees room***_

_**Ladies and gents, my family. And that was the CLEAN version. The edited version, so to speak. **_

_**Okay, so now for more serious business. **_

_**This is it. The actual end. (Not for long, of course. I'm still writing for all those brilliant prompts you sent me.) So I'd like to say a few things. **_

_**First of all, it has come to my attention that this fic had become popular enough to warrant this statement. So here goes: IF, by some strange miracle, any of you like this enough to draw something for it, post about it somewhere, or want to (if this happens I will be seriously surprised) translate this, then feel free. Seriously. I don't care. Let me know if you do though- and send me the link. I want to save it on my phone and cherish it for the rest of my life. **_

_**Okay, so, this killed me to write. Why? I'm really sad to see this end. Really sad. I had so much fun doing this, and I believe I've grown a lot as a person and as a writer by doing this. **_

_**Let me paint you a picture:**_

_**There's a girl. She's been lonely and depressed for a long time, but she finally finds a small group of friends she can count on, rely on, and cherish. They're fangirls. They introduce her to Sherlock. And later, after she reads her first fanfiction (which doesn't include Johnlock), and she complains that something is missing, they introduce her to Johnlock. She is hooked. **_

_**Eventually, she ventures from the realm of reading fanfiction to writing it. Her first few fics don't receive much feedback, but the little bit they do is positive. **_

_**She continues to write. Eventually, she meets a few people through this very website and becomes close. One in particular, Anonymoustache, she starts a great friendship with. After a while, she begins to send her her unfinished stories- the ones she has lurking on her phone, haunting her. **_

_**One in particular raises the newly-christened Sherlock ADD Buddy's attention. The beginning of a 30 Day OTP Challenge she started, but never even got past the first few paragraphs of, the first challenge. She demands she finishes it. She thinks, "Well, what if it was a Christmas present?" And they agree to do it simultaneously. **_

_**She posts the first chapter, expecting her normal amount of feedback. She receives two reviews in one night- unheard of. Skeptical, thinking it is a fluke, she posts another, sure it isn't going to receive any reviews. **_

_**It receives more. **_

_**This pattern continues until she realizes that the reviews aren't going to stop. They're going to keep coming. People actually like this. Like her writing. **_

_**She still doesn't believe it and bashes her writing at every possible opportunity. It's almost a defense mechanism- say it sucks, and they can't. All they can do is agree. But people don't think it sucks. They wonder why she doesn't like it. **_

_**Slowly, she starts to think her readers may be right. **_

_**Before, she had no idea what she was doing with her life. Now, she wonders- what if I became a writer? **_

_**Her self-confidence grows. Not only is she bolder in her writing, but it spreads to her real life as well. She speaks up more, becomes more playful, less withdrawn, more like the person everyone knew her as before she grew a shell to protect her from the world. **_

_**And then people really help her. She talks with as many people as she can, tries to connect. She can't believe they don't think she is annoying or stupid. One gives her a nickname. It sticks. **_

_**Her fic becomes- well, it becomes sort-of popular. **_

_**And at the end, she is a changed girl. She knows what she is doing with her life. She has more self-confidence than she has ever had, save for the few happy years when she was a child. She realizes with awe that she has fans. People who care about her, even if they have never talked face to face. **_

_**If you can't tell that girl was me, I'm sorry, but you're an idiot. **_

_**I can never thank you enough- all of you- for this. Everything listed above. You've helped me, so much. I love each and every single one of you. **_

_**Guys, this is your last chance to review. Tell me what you think. What were your favorite challenges? Any particular favorite scenes? Anything you'd like to see more of? Any questions, prompts, thoughts? Anything at all, now's your chance. Please review. Reviews mean to me- well, as much as reviews mean to me. **_

_**2013 is coming to a close, and 2014 gleams brightly ahead, with its promises of a Sherlock Series 3, a fresh start, and everything you need to make this year fantastic. I wish you all the best. If you feel even a fraction of the happiness I felt this month, then this year will be great. I hope you all feel that joy. I sincerely do. All the best, and many happy returns. **_

_**Goodnight, or good morning,**_

_**Signing off for the last time in this fic, **_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_

_**See you all soon. **_


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